


The Centurion Club

by FivePips



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dining Club, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oxford, mentions drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FivePips/pseuds/FivePips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Centurion Club is the most infamous and storied dining club at Oxford. Sherlock Holmes is only member due to familial obligations along with a bit of blackmail from his brother. John Watson is invited, to his surprise, to join the elite group in his second year due to family connections. The two strike up a surprising friendship (a bit more than that if you ask John's flatmates) and eventually have to work together to look into a series of mysterious deaths of club members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something A Bit Different

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by Laura Wade’s play, "Posh". It’s not a crossover and it doesn’t follow the story line because I’m just starting to read it but it made me want to write something about Sherlock in a dining club at Oxford. The club in the book is called The Riot Club and in real life it’s called the Bullingdon Club. I don’t know too much about dining clubs but I’ve always been interested in secret societies (i.e. Skull and Bones at Yale). I also don’t know a hell of a lot about Oxford so I’m going to be doing a lot of research along the way so don't get too mad at me if everything's not right.
> 
> and thank you to my lovely beta [Iriya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iriya/pseuds/Iriya)

The Centurion Club was founded 253 years ago and had been an Oxford institution since. It was originally a cricket club but eventually turned into an elite dining club on campus. Yearly there were twenty-five to thirty members of well-to-do families. Many of the current members were sons, grandsons, ECT of past members. Many former members were involved in politics (two Prime Ministers to name a few), finance, and law. The President and executive board picked new members every year, depending on how many have moved on. They were put through initiation rituals. The rituals normally revolved around drinking, partying, and the useless knowledge members need to know about the past of the club and Oxford.  
  
In the past the members would compete in cricket but now it was a points game of the President’s choosing and they fought it out through out the school year. It had become common for the game to do with sexual conquests. Outside of the yearly race The Club rented out private dinning rooms every few weeks for “dinner”. The dinner was an opportunity to fuck with owners of upper-class restaurants by demolishing the rooms as well as getting drunk and having a good time. Most of those dinners ended up at clubs, sometimes on trains or planes off to a weekend in a location abroad.  
  
The current President (or General as he likes to be referred to) was Jim Moriarty. His second in command was Sebastian Wilkes. The rest of the executive board was Joshua Anderson, Christopher Gregson, and Alistair Bradstreet. The five men not only run The Club but also their respective colleges. They were all intelligent but mostly terrible people. General Jim Moriarty was on another level. People who crossed him the wrong way tended to end up isolated, alone, and on more than one occasion fearing for their well-being.  
  
The Club was private but there were events where outsiders were invited. They were not really outsiders though as they all fell within the same ‘type’. Rich, ambitious, from a good family. The Club and its followers had a reputation for causing havoc on campus and throughout Oxford. Thanks to the money of their collective families nothing had ever gone to far legally and they had never been dismissed from the school for their antics.

* * *

“That’s it then, the five new members. We’ll begin initiation week next Friday so those of you in charge of the new meat be sure to have your plebs up to date with necessary information. I’m rather looking forward to this year.”  
  
Sherlock Holmes blankly stared at the oak paneled wall behind Jim while rolling his empty glass between his hands. The whole evening had been mind-rottenly boring. He didn’t care one bit about the new members ( _do they really need five more idiots in addition to the twenty-four that they currently have?)_ or any new rules or regulations. These meetings were the most boring part of being in The Club. He could have just skived off to do something more interesting but he would rather not have to deal with Jim’s whining.  
  
“Here, Sherlock, you get to take care of him. I know you’ll treat him properly as we did for you last year.” Jim set a small binder in front of him with a sly smile. He was one of the five to draw the short straw. He had to mind this future member through the next two weeks. He was sure the man was as brainless and hopeless as the rest.  
  
You may ask, how was it that Sherlock Holmes, the solitary man who didn’t want to attend Oxford or go into politics or give one damn about social status end up in this tedious club?  
  
To begin with it was a Holmes family tradition, going all the way back to the establishment of The Centurion Club. Rouland Holmes was a founding member and since then every Holmes man who had passed through the gates had been a member. Sherlock’s recruitment was a must for the members of The Club and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. There was also the matter of Mycroft threatening to reveal Sherlock’s drug habits to Mummy and Father if he didn’t keep the family tradition (meaning he would lose his inheritance, which was the last thing he would want to do at the moment). The all access pass to the best cocaine on campus and the endless amounts of parties made things easier for him to say yes as well. He was still not sure if Mycroft really knew the extent of the access to drugs.  
  
“Come back to mine?” Victor nudged Sherlock’s foot under the table. Most of the room had cleared out with the exception of Jim, Anderson, Seb, Henry, and Victor.  
  
Sherlock glanced over the information in his binder. _John Watson. Studying Medicine. Second Year. Uncle Hamish Watson former member. Boring. Boring. Boring._ “Mmm, let’s go out.” Sherlock shut the binder and stood up quickly.  
  
“Brilliant idea, let’s go to The Old Crow. Faith texted me to meet her over there when we were done. I say we all go join.”  
  
Sherlock did all he could to not tell the other men to piss off. Some nights, like tonight, he wanted to spend time with only Victor, the least brainless of the bunch. Returning back to campus was difficult (thankfully he had his own flat this year so he was spared from suffering through student housing again) even after spending a summer with his family. The endless routine of his classes and labs and lectures he was facing again made his skin crawl. At least The Club did offer distractions and break from routine but he still hated most of the members.  
  
“Fantastic, I need to drop my books back at my flat. Good thing it’s on the way, you bastards could have scheduled the time closer to my class getting out. You lads can leave what you want there.” Victor said, following Sherlock out of the room.  
  
After leaving their things in Victor and Henry’s flat they went down to The Old Crow, “I’ve got an idea.” Jim interrupted a discussion between Seb and Anderson about what the night would entail. Sherlock couldn’t care less, he just wanted to get very high and very drunk and feel the music thump through his body, then go back to Victor’s or someone else’s flat, have a good shag and then pass out. “Pick up the most middle class person in the club.”  
  
“Why?” Anderson snared, as if it was completely revolting to sleep with someone who had less money than him.  
  
“It’s something a bit different.” Jim offered, checking his phone. “You need to shag out of your class sometimes. First to do it gets that bottle of champagne I mentioned earlier.”  
  
“I’ll be taking that, boys.” Seb spoke as they walked passed the line into the club. One of the many perks of being a Centurion Man.  
  
Sherlock immediately beelined to the bathroom with Victor for a line or two before making his way to the bar. Sherlock was sure he needed the help of chemicals survive any amount of time with these men.  
  
Of course, Irene and the girls from The Dames Club, basically the all female version of The Centurion Club, were sitting at the booth.  
  
“Hello, darling.” Irene looked at Sherlock as if she wanted to devour him. She was in her typical tight black dress and heels that could kill a man if used correctly.  
  
He took a seat in the empty spot next to her. He made a mistake, one night. It had been completely experimental, really. He should have gone with another woman but Irene had been the only woman Sherlock was able to stand for extended periods of time. “Not tonight, Adler.”  
  
“One night you’ll say yes again.” She assured him.  
  
“Highly doubtful, unless you drug me.”  
  
“Don’t put it past me.” He would never.  
  
He pressed his lips together and looked over at another table not to far away surrounded by five people who looked a bit uncomfortable and out of place in the club. _20 year old man. Blue eyes. Build of a Rugby player. Shoulder injury. Old, worn trainers. Plaid button-down with a grey cardigan. Drinking the cheapest beer. Not terrible looking. No, quite good looking actually. Perfect._ He was going to win Jim’s stupid little game.  
  
“Target acquired, Holmes?” Jim wiggled his brows.  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
Jim said something else to him but it didn’t register as he had more important things on his mind.

* * *

”Ugh, there’s those posh bastards. Who would want to join a thing called The Century Club?” Greg tilted his head to the group of well-dressed men who had recently sat in a booth by where their friends were.  
  
“Centurion.” John corrected Greg as they headed back to Molly, Sarah, and Mike who had found a table earlier and refused to move from it.  
  
“What, you joining?”  
  
“God no. My Uncle used to be in it, is all.”  
  
“Don’t they normally go after blokes with family ties?”  
  
John took a pull from his pint, “I didn’t get called on last year, think I’m out of the woods.”  
  
“John’s joining The Centurion Men.” Greg announced when they finally arrived at the table.  
  
“I am not.”  
  
“Why are we here? We don’t fit in here.” Molly pouted. “It’s bloody expensive, too. We’re going to blow our months rent here.”  
  
“I thought we’d go somewhere special to finish our first week back with a nice night out. Plus John has this round.” Greg said. “Oi! John, stop staring at those bastards.”  
  
John didn’t realise he was staring at the handful of members of the Centurion Club and the girls who trailed them like puppy dogs. “No, I’m-” It was not because he longed to be a member but because he couldn’t picture his uncle as one of those blokes. Sure Uncle Hamish was well off. He hadn’t realised how well off until John received his estate when he passed away. The day he read those numbers he nearly fainted. Uncle Hamish never flaunted his money or dressed in suits, at least not in front of John.  
  
“Probably that Irene Adler, good lookin’ bird.” Mike nodded with an appreciative look.  
  
“Yeah, one John has no chance in hell with.” Sarah threw back her head with a deep laugh.  
  
“Thanks, Sarah.” John glanced back to the group of men to see one staring him down. Great, probably pissed him off. Probably thought he was gawking at Irene, who was whispering something in his ear. Fantastic.  
  
“Why’s that guy smirking at you?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“That’s Sherlock Holmes.” Mike informed them all. “Took a Bio with him, brilliant man. Mad as a hatter but a genius. Surprised he’s in that club, doesn’t seem like the type.”  
  
“Funny name.”  
  
“He’s quite fit.” Molly commented. She was right, at least from what John could see in this lighting. He was all long legs, high cheekbones, and perfectly tousled dark brown.  
  
“Still out of John’s league. The guy looks aristocratic, probably in line for the throne.”  
  
John shrugged off the whole thing and proceeded on trying to have a good night.  
  
Later in the bathroom he was washing his hands and the posh bastard that Mike knew from The Centurion Club sauntered in. He crowded him against the sink after John turned around. “Uh hi.”  
  
“Hello.” The other man’s lips curled up into a devious smile. He looked like he was up to no good.  
  
“Earlier- I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking at your girlfriend.” John was not sure why he said that because he hadn’t been confronted about it.  
  
“I don’t have a girlfriend, not really my area, so I don’t care who you were staring at.” His voice sounded like rich velvet and John had the sudden urge to push his fingers through those silky curls. Even better yet, pushing them into that mouth, god those lips. That was a nice thought. “You however-”  
  
“Oh. Oh. _OH_.” John opened his eyes wide. “You’re trying to pull me, not beat me up.”  
  
“You’re not punching me and you’re also showing all the signs of arousal, so I’m going to deduce that you don’t care.”  
  
He licked his lips and Sherlock Holmes chased his tongue with his lips. _God damnit. Bloody buggering fuck._ John had never been the guy who slept with random men or women that he picked up at nightclubs but why not, right? _You only live once and all that. It’s college, you’re supposed to do that type of thing._ _Right..._  
  
“You live close.” It was not a question but John answered with a yes anyway. “Care for company on your walk home?”  
  
John tried to keep cool but Sherlock’s hand was now cupping him through his jeans and “hell yes” came out a bit too desperately.  
  
The taller man smirked, “Lead the way…”  
  
“John, John Wah-”  
  
“John.” Sherlock said like he had heard the name before, which was odd because of course he had. Unless if these toffs only knew people who had names like Sherlock and Archibald.  
  
“Don’t want to know my last name?” John questioned before he reached the door.  
  
“Don’t see why I need it. You can call me Sherlock.”  
  
All right then, just sex it was.  
  
On the way out of the club he saw Greg on the dance floor with some girl, he’d just have to text him later that he left. The girls and Mike had already gone to head back to the house, saying that had to work in the morning but it was mostly because they weren’t having a very good time. As a group they weren't into going out to clubs.  
  
Without another word they made it out of the club and were two minutes away from John’s flat when Sherlock finally spoke again, “You play rugby but not this year.”  
  
“No, had surgery over the summer. Do you stalk me or something?” Fantastic, he was bringing back a stalker to shag.  
  
“No, I deduced.”  
  
“Deduced.”  
  
“Yes. Everyone has a story and most of it is written all over them if you look hard enough. The way you carried your drinks back from the bar to your table. You did so with your right hand but you carry your wallet and your phone in your left pockets.  When you reached into your pockets you winced. Why don’t you just use your right-hand side for that stuff? Too stubborn to break your habit? Trying to be _manly_? You can’t be that stupid to keep bothering your shoulder over and over.”  
  
“I’m stubborn.” John frowned. His doctors told him he had to be mindful but sometimes those can be a difficult thing to do.  
  
“I’ll keep the shoulder in mind.” Sherlock said. “Unless you want it to hurt.”  
  
John coughed.  
  
“You rather be on the giving end.” He announced loudly and John was very happy that no one was around to hear.  
  
“I-yeah-ah.” If he didn’t have that last pint maybe he would be able to form better and more coherent sentences.  
  
“That’s fine with me.” Sherlock crossed the street a half second after John. “I have no STIs but we’ll be using protection, obviously.”  
  
“Yeah, ah, of course. I don’t have any either.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
They finally arrived at the old house John shared with the others. Luckily only the front light was on when they opened the door. He didn't feel like having a chat with Molly or Sarah at the moment because they would just look at him disapprovingly.  
  
John led them up to his room on the top floor where he had the only room there. No sooner did he close the door Sherlock Holmes was right on him, kissing him and driving him back towards the bed.  
  
When he hit the edge of his mattress he collapsed on top, bringing Sherlock with him. The kissing and rutting didn't last too long, just long enough for them to both be hard and ready, and John was a bit surprised, “You move fast.” John said was the other man is undoing his button and flies.  
  
“I’m sorry, shall we slow down and have a chat?” He punctuated his question by ripping down John’s trousers and pants then he tossed them to the side. “You don’t do this often-ever.”  
  
“Nope.” John struggled getting out of his shirt.  
  
Sherlock just hummed a response as  he rid himself of his clothes. “Condoms and lube? Tell me you have some.”  
  
“Bedside table.”  
  
He hopped off the bed with grace, “Should have assumed.” Sherlock dug around before moving back to John, straddling his hips this time. “Don’t worry, you’re still fucking me. I just rather like this angle. I’m going to prepare myself. It’ll be faster. Would you like to watch?”  
  
John’s mouth didn’t seem to work but Sherlock cocked his head and grinned down at him like he could read all the thoughts running through his head. The other man moved so John had a view of Sherlock Holmes’ perfect arse and back.  
  
“Fuck.” He breathed as Sherlock slowly pressed a finger into himself.  
  
“Enjoying the view?” Sherlock made a nice show of it but John felt like anything this mad man did looked like a show. He rolled his head and arched his back when he found that beautiful little bundle of nerves… well John assumed because of the noise he made combined with his body’s reaction.  
  
The lines of Sherlock’s back and shoulders were amazing and outside of a couple of freckles and one mole in the middle of his back he was unblemished. John grabbed Sherlock’s slim hips just so he could touch something as another finger joined up to the knuckle.  
  
“Put this on.” Sherlock tossed the condom and lube over his shoulder with a free hand. It landed next to John’s right hand.  
  
John did as he was told and soon enough Sherlock was sinking down onto him, still facing away from him. “Fuck, you feel fantastic.” His fingers dug into those pale hips again.  
  
“Thank you.” He said once he was seated on John’s lap.  
  
“Thank you?” John repeated with a laugh but his train of thought was lost when Sherlock rose up then slammed down again.  
  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  
  
Sherlock repeated the action one more time before John’s brain could catch up to tell him to meet Sherlock’s thrusts.  
  
The bed was squeaking and Sherlock was not exactly being quiet, surely they had woken up the house. John finally understood the terms ‘fucked into the mattress’ and ‘topping from the bottom’ properly. He was also positive he’d never had sex feel so great before.  
  
“You better be close.” Sherlock moaned the last word.  
  
“Yes- yeah - oh fucking hell.” John scraped his nails down Sherlock’s spine.  
  
Sherlock was the first one to come with a guttural noise. He tensed around John and produced some pretty amazing noises, driving John to follow not very far behind.  
  
“That was-that was-fucking fantastic.” John tried to get himself back together when Sherlock finally climbed off of him and wiped himself off with John’s shirt.  
  
“You need to get out more.” He got back into bed.  
  
“I’m going to clean up. If you need water or anything it’s just downstairs.” Sherlock nodded with his eyes closed.  
  
When he came back to his room Sherlock was out cold and snoring slightly. John crawled into bed, trying not to disturb him. It didn'ttake too long for him to fall asleep with the mix of liquor and sex making him tired.  
  
The next morning Sherlock was gone before John woke up, which was no surprise. He wasn’t exactly expecting cuddles and a lie-in with the man.  
  
“So, you slept with that bastard from the club? Could have been a bit quieter last night according to Mike and Molly.” Greg grinned at John when he entered the kitchen. John could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks.  
  
“Well, I guess he wasn’t out of your league then, cheers.” Sarah raised her coffee mug at him. “Bit of an arse isn’t he though.”  
  
“He’s- ah - I guess.”  
  
“Didn’t talk much? John, you slag!” Sarah teased. “I asked him if he wanted coffee this morning and he told me to piss off.”  
  
“You won’t be seeing him again so I guess that doesn’t matter.” Greg shrugged and patted John on the back. “It was a one night thing, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” As Sherlock said last night, obviously.


	2. Hoc Honore Accipere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realises his mistake. John is formally invited to the club, then he and Sherlock go shopping.

Victor greeted Sherlock with a big, knowing smile the next morning, “Already shagging the new recruits; how was Watson?”  
  
“What are you on about?” Sherlock passed him into the kitchen where a pot of coffee was waiting for him. He probably should have slept more because his whole body was now complaining but he couldn’t risk waking up and having to _talk_.  
  
“You shagged John Watson, you know the new member you’re in charge of.”  
  
Sherlock had seen people do spit-takes on telly but always thought it looked contrived, no one would ever really do that. But he nearly spit coffee all over Victor and Henry’s kitchen when he realised John was John Watson.  
  
“Jim says he doesn’t count. He does look middle-class but he does have money according to our lovely General. Wouldn’t know it, poor sod needs a new wardrobe.” Victor set a plate of toast in front of Sherlock on the counter then put some more in the toaster.  
  
“Fuck.” Of all the men in Oxford he pulled up the one he probably shouldn’t have.  
  
“Just learning about Watson now?” Henry joined them in the kitchen.  
  
“I didn’t exactly catch his family name last night.” Sherlock set his coffee mug down. “When I go back there he’s going to think I’m trying to shag him again or want to have a relationship.”  
  
“Wanna switch?” Henry pointed to the binders on the table.  
  
“No, it’s fine.” At least John Watson didn’t seem completely dull. If he was going to be forced to be spend time with someone over the coming week or so then he wouldn’t be too bad.  
  
“Do you like him?”  
  
“We shagged, we didn’t have pillow talk.” Sherlock opened the cupboard for a glass so he could have some water. “I’m not interested in him.”  
  
“Remember, Henry, Sherlock doesn’t do relationships.” Victor reminded the other man. Victor knew full well about Sherlock’s desire to be alone, free of entanglement. Shagging was one thing but relationships were a completely different animal. They complicate lives and were all together messy. Sherlock knew that he’s better off without them.  
  
Sadly for Victor he had fallen in love with him then got his heart broken a bit last fall. Thankfully he moved on and was just fine with shagging and talking about less dull things.  
  
“Ah, yes. Good luck and all that with your invitation. You know you’re not supposed to knock?”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was not going to break into this bloke’s room after they had shagged. “Who cares about tradition?”  
  
“Jim does.”  
  
He snickered and chugged his water, “Have any weed?’  
  
“You don’t stop, do you?”  
  
“It’s the weekend.” Sherlock reminded them as he went to Victor’s room in hunt of his stash. He didn’t want to waste anymore time thinking about The Club or what he was going to do with John Watson.  
  
Sunday afternoon rolled around and a slightly hungover Sherlock decided it was time to go back to John Watson’s house to get the invitation over with. It was a sad looking residence that could use some paint and a bit of gardening. You would never guess a man with so much money would live in such a place. Interesting this Watson.  
  
He decided the other day he wasn’t going to listen to the rule about keeping the invitation a secret because he was not about to come off as a stalker. Knocking on the door and having to chat about this with him was enough.  
  
“Oh-ah… did you-leave-um something here?” John Watson was clearly confused when he opened the door. “I didn’t see anything…”  
  
“No, here.” Sherlock handed him the formal invitation to The Centurion Club. “You’re invited to The Centurion Club by President James Moriarty. We’ll be having champagne in a private dinning room at The Duke of Earl on Friday at eight in the evening to begin the week of initiation. I’m supposed to help you study Club protocol and history, which is in that binder. As well as answer any questions you have. To answer the question that is written all over your face, no I did not know the other night I was in charge of you.”  
  
“Ah? What? The - I can’t be a part of this. I’m not like you.”  
  
“It seems that you are. You’ve caught The General’s eye for some reason, most likely because your Uncle had quite the reputation with the group.” Sherlock pushed by John to enter the house and found his way into the sitting room.  
  
 _Five occupants, two women, three men, all in medicine. No, one is studying law. All apart of the same college. John-  
  
_ “Do I have to accept?” John interrupted his deductions. “And, yeah, you can come in…”  
  
“If you don’t accept Jim will most likely not make things easy for you. I’m told it’s an honour, I assumed you’d jump at the chance.” Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and spun on his heel to turn back towards John. He was very annoyed and confused, it appeared that way at least.  
  
“You’re told it’s an honour? Do you not want to be in The Club?”  
  
“That’s none of your concern. Now why wouldn’t you want to jump at the chance?” Sherlock studied him more.  
  
“Ah, you lot are twats.”  
  
“Hmm, you’re an interesting person, John Watson. You have all this money and family connections but you don’t dress or act like it. You could live in a better flat, correct? But you’re here slumming it and sharing the rent with four others. You’re either a Zuckerburg Millionaire with old T-shirts and cardigans instead of hoodies and flip-flops or you’re newly wealthy and are just afraid to spend your money unwisely. I’m going to go with the latter. Most people would jump at the chance to be in The Club for the opportunities of parties and such as well as the connections later in life. I’m rather impressed that you’re not.”  
  
“You’re doing that thing, the deducing you mentioned the other night. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pick apart my life.” John crossed his arms defensively.  
  
“Well, don’t give it away so much.” Sherlock said as two of John’s flatmates poked their heads into the room.  
  
“You two dating now?” The girl asked.  
  
“No.” They said in unison.  
  
“John’s been invited to be a part of The Centurion Club.” Sherlock told John’s friends flatly. It was supposed to be a secret until John was inducted as a member but he knew as soon as he left John would tell his friends.  
  
“Oh, mate that’s funny.” The man snickered. “I’m Greg Lestrade, this is Sarah Sawyer.”  
  
Sherlock ignored them and looked to John, “If you don’t want to join, that’s fine. I’ll come up with some type of excuse that will make Jim less - _annoyed_ \- so you can go on with your boring little life.”  
  
“Oi, my boring little life? I’ve got things on!”  
  
“Mmm, yes. You sit inside usually six to seven nights a week with the same people. You focus mostly on your studies, which is fine but rather boring. You don’t have rugby anymore, with your injury and all. You’re going to be very bored this year.”  
  
“You make a lot of judgments.”  
  
“It’s not judgments.”  
  
“Right, right deductions. I still don’t understand why this Jim will care if I don’t join.”  
  
“It’s a privilege and he takes exception. A personal slight to him? He chooses you and you turn him down. He enjoys toying with people who bother him and you not joining will bother him terribly because this Club is his.”  
  
John looked to his friends who both made a face that said ‘I don’t know’.  
  
“I’ll give you a day to think over your decision if that’s what you need.”  
  
“What do I have to do if I join?”  
  
“Suffer through a week of initiation rituals and then after we have dinners every few weeks and you’re expected to go out with the members at least once a week. There’s also a points game but if you don’t get too much into it then nothing will come of it aside from the other members giving you a joking hard time. There are ways to lie about it as well.”  
  
John looked to his shoes, “Give me the day.”  
  
There was no point in rushing Watson to say yes now, even though Sherlock already knew he wanted to say yes. “Excellent, my number’s on the first page. Text me, I don’t like phone calls.” Sherlock swept out of the house and headed to his flat. There were more important things he could be doing than sitting about waiting for the inevitable yes.

* * *

John stared at the white card stock with black embossed letters in fancy typography.

**HOC HONORE ACCIPERE**

**MISTER JOHN HAMISH WATSON  
WELCOME TO THE CENTURION CLUB  
CHAMPANGE RECEPTION AT THE DUKE OF EARL  
JACKET AND TIE REQUIRED  
21:00 FRIDAY 15 th OF OCTOBER 2010  
  
SUPERO OMNIA**

“Is it because you shagged him? Are you that good in bed?”  
  
“God I hope that's not why. I mean I hope I'm good-”  
  
“Mmmhmm.” Greg grabbed the invitation. “Well, probably didn’t make him pick you because this card looks like a proper thing and you met him not even two days ago.”  
  
John opened the binder, curiously.  
  
“I think you should do it. Worse comes to worse you suffer through the year.” Sarah sat down on the sofa.  
  
“No, I’d have to suffer through it until I receive my degree.” John said as his eyes skimmed over ‘life-time membership’. “And probably after.”  
  
Sarah frowned, “What are you going to do?”  
  
John shrugged.  
  
Uncle Hamish was an important part of John’s life when he was growing up until when he passed a few days after John’s 18th birthday. His parents weren’t the best examples (one an alcoholic, the other a drop-out housewife who enabled) and when things were rough Uncle Hamish was there with either a helpful word or a shoulder to lean on. When he passed, he left John his estate, which turned out to be a staggering amount of money. He wanted to be smart like his Uncle so he saved or invested most of the money. He let two of the three houses and only used the thrid when he wanted to get away.  
  
If it was good enough for Uncle Hamish then it should be good enough for John, right? Some of these connections might be good later in life too and it would give him something to do in his spare time this year since he couldn’t play rugby. He heard gossip about the dinners, parties, and the general mayhem that the club left in its wake. Last year all he focused on was working out and doing his classwork. Having a good time in his down time sounded like a brilliant idea.  
  
The only problem with joining The Centurion Club was the other members. At least that was what John assumed just by his few interactions with the various members he had last year. He accidently bumped into the rat-faced guy that was with Sherlock the other night in a pub last year and spilt his drink. The guy made some comment about the brandy that was now on the floor being more expensive than anything John owned. Outside of an amazing shag Sherlock wasn’t actually the type of person that he wanted to associate himself with. He seemed like a complete and utter bastard. _A sexy, fucking amazing in bed, and complete and utter posh bastard._  
  
The next day after class John had finally made his choice,

 **All right, I’ll join  
           –John Watson  
             
            Excellent  
            –SH  
             
            So, what do I need to study, minder?  
             
            That binder…do you have a nice suit?  
             -SH  
             
            Ah…I guess.  
             
            I’ll be over in 20.  
            –SH  
             
            Ok** _  
_  
John tossed his phone on the bed and went to his wardrobe to look at his lone suit. _What the fuck am I getting myself into?  
  
_ Sherlock showed up in his room about half an hour later, Molly had let him in. “I know a tailor who owes me a favor, come on.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He moved towards the open wardrobe, “You have one suit.” The taller man pulled out his suit. “It looks too small for you, I’m guessing you bought it for a funeral before you put on the muscle that comes with playing this level of rugby?  
  
John gaped at him, “How-”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, “I can get you one suit for free but I suggest at least three preferably four. We’ll also need to buy you some nicer button-downs and ties… maybe shoes. Come along, John.” He dropped his suit in the middle of the floor and breezed by John again.  
  
He picked up his coat and went after Sherlock. Half way down the street, “I don’t really care how I’m dressed.”  
  
“Clearly.” Sherlock groaned, “I don’t care how you dress either but these establishments you’re going to be frequenting do. Not to mention the rest of the club will look down on you. I’ve already heard a few of these idiots saying how you’re not one of us. Not that I believe I’m one of them, I just happened to inherit it by blood.”  
  
John furrowed his brow. Where did he want to start with picking apart Sherlock’s statement? “I don’t understand, why are you in this club? Whenever you mention it you have this tone like you hate being a part of it.”  
  
“I don’t enjoy having to do tedious things, such as usher you through this initiation process or having to socialise with complete arseholes.”  
  
“Ah, isn’t that what’s it all about? Socialise and doing stuff for the club?”  
  
“Partying is what it’s all about.”  
  
John scratched his head, “Do you not interact with people when you party?”  
  
“They seem less dull in those situations.” Sherlock let out an annoyed type of sound. “You’ll do just fine, John. Once your wardrobe is updated, they won’t have a problem with you. They’re rather superficial.” He fiddled with his scarf as they turned onto another street.  
  
“You’re not superficial? Is that what makes you unlike them?” John felt like he was running to keep up with the long legged bastard.  
  
“I care about knowledge more than them and I could care less about the club’s legacy.”  
  
“You really know how to talk something up, you should get into sales.” John said dryly and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “Sarcasm.”  
  
“I could tell. I’m just curious why you’re not running the other way.”  
  
“I need something to occupy my time.” John didn’t want to tell this bloke about Uncle Hamish and the influence he had on his life.  
  
“Mmm.” His pale blue eyes bore into John as if he knew he was omitting something.  
  
“All right, so if you think this is tedious, why are you helping me?”  
  
“To get Jim off my back. I find my life much easier with him not nosing into my business. I have enough of that from my brother.”  
  
John wasn’t sure what to say. This wasn’t the first time Sherlock’s complained about the President of the club.  
  
“Don’t worry about Jim. If you blend in and don’t stand out he won’t annoy you. He’s taken some sort of a liking towards me and wants me to be like him and his minions but I’d rather not.”  
  
That was a bit of a relief. He just hoped Jim wouldn’t like him. “So you stood out to him.”  
  
“I’m a genius.”  
  
“And not modest.” John scoffed, _what a cocky git_.  
  
“It’s a proven fact.”  
  
“So he likes you because you’re smart…”  
  
“Yes, he’d like me to go into business with him when we finish here but I have no intention to help advance him in any way.”  
  
“What do you study?”  
  
“Chemistry.”  
  
“What are you going to do with that?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged, “I’m only here to receive my inheritance because my mother believes I need a degree to live the rest of my life correctly. Once I graduate I have no intention on building a dead end, boring career.”  
  
“So you’re just going to live like some rich playboy.” He flashed a smile at the very well-dressed man next to him. There was no way he was going to look as posh as this man, no matter how nice these suits were.  
  
“No, I’m going to pursue something stimulating. I’m interested in criminology. The criminal mind is fascinating. I also like solving things, cases are the greatest puzzles.”  
  
That was not the answer that John was expecting. He thought the man was going to say something about dropping everything and traveling the world or maybe living in a yacht in the south of France. “Have you solved crimes before?”  
  
“Small ones… petty theft, affairs. I’d love a murder, a good one.” Sherlock rubbed his hands together.  
  
“Just don’t commit one.” John joked because the man sounded far too excited about the prospect of another person’s suspicious death.  
  
“I don’t plan on it.” Sherlock stopped short. “Here we are.” The shop looked like a hole in the wall.  
  
“You get your suits here?”  
  
“Antonio is the best in Oxford, possibly England.”  
  
“How much are three suits going to cost me?”  
  
“It’s an investment.” Sherlock opened the door with a flourish. “After you.”  
  
The appointment with the tailor went well enough and John was surprised to get a discount on his three other suits on top of the free one. The man seemed to be thankful to Sherlock but John had no clue why because they both spoke Italian. After finished there Sherlock took him to two more shops for shirts, ties, shoes, and belts. It was always hard to part with money even though he knew he had plenty. Growing up with tight funds, his parents taught him how to live on meager amounts of cash.  
  
Following their shopping Sherlock joined John back at the house, promising takeaway because shopping was far more effort than John thought it would be.  
  
“Operum Omnum Medico-Physicorum. This was published in 1695.” Sherlock stared at John’s bookshelf in awe after ordering Thai from a place John had never heard of. John was sure that he had never seen anyone so excited over books. “You have five books printed at that time. Do you know how rare and expensive they are? You can’t bear to spend money on clothes but on books you can’t read? Family heirloom.”  
  
“They were given to me.” John explained, putting away his last new shirt. “My Uncle’s partner was a surgeon and when he moved back to Paris he gave me those.”  
  
“Uncle Hamish Watson?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“May I?” He pointed to a book.  
  
“Go ahead, can you read Latin?”  
  
“Yes. You should think about taking a course or two, it will help with your studies.” He closely examined the leather bound book in his hand. “Fantastic.” He reclined on John’s bed. “Is your Uncle with him in Paris?”  
  
“No, he’s dead.” John folded the shopping bag nicely and slid it next to his bin.  
  
“Oh, that’s how you got your money?” There was no sympathy in Sherlock’s voice, just inquisitiveness. John wasn’t sure how to take that. He did hate the fake ‘I’m sorry’ more than anything.  
  
“Um, yeah.” He picked up the binder that Sherlock had given him the other day.  
  
“Hmm, I see.” Sherlock kicked off his shoes then moved into a more comfortable position. He lay on his stomach with his feet up in the air and nose in the book.  
  
“Make yourself at home.” He muttered and opened the binder. “The club was established in 1757 by Richard Smith, Chandler Riley, and Rouland Holmes - so that’s your family connection.” It made a bit more sense now why Sherlock had to be in the club.  
  
“Correct, how fortunate for me.” Sherlock’s tone dripped with sarcasm.  
  
“So you’re really, really old money, hmm?”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He glanced up from his book. “Let’s not talk about our families. Memorise three pages and I’ll give you a blow job.”  
  
John’s eyes went wide.  
  
“I figure if we both have to do this then why not make it interesting, go on.” Sherlock looked up at him through his long eyelashes. “You don’t have casual sex, ever, do you? How many partners have you had? More than one?”  
  
“Yeah, more than one.”  
  
“Two then… no three counting myself. The previous two were long-term relationships, probably your first girlfriend and then your first boyfriend.”  
  
John looked at the picture of Bill and himself on his desk, “You’re both amazing and annoying when you do that.”  
  
Sherlock grinned smugly, “You haven’t told me to piss off yet, so you enjoy it on some level.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and looked back to the binder.  
  
“I’m serious about the blow job.”  
  
After finishing the takeaway an hour or so later John felt he had a good enough grasp on the first few pages Sherlock asked him a few questions before getting on his knees in front of John’s chair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” John nestled his fingers in Sherlock’s messy curls as his tongue swirled around the head.

“You should be a bit more quiet if you don’t want to get looks from your flatmates.” Sherlock said, stroking his hand up from the base of his cock.  
  
“Goddamnit. To hell with them.” John couldn’t help his hips from bucking as Sherlock took him into his mouth. “This is the best way to study.” He licked his lips. This rest of this week wasn’t going to be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Latin is a bit rusty (those three years in high school seem like a million years ago right now) so i apologize for any conjugations mistakes from here on out.


	3. Initiation Week

John fussed over his tie in the mirror between the girl’s rooms one more time, “Oh, you look dashing.” Sarah teased, standing in her doorway. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.”  
  
He had spent the rest of the week after Monday studying up on the useless history of The Centurion Club in his free time. Sherlock came over for a couple of hours every day or they would meet at a library and study in silence (ah, silence until Sherlock quizzed John on the material that he was memorising and they had some form of sex… it was mostly a blow job or a hand job but once they had sex again and it was just as hard and fast as the first time). Mostly John was studying and Sherlock was either reading through John’s books or frantically writing notes down for experiments. What type of experiments, John had no idea.  
  
Sherlock wasn’t what John expected him to be. He was sure all the guy did was party and sleep around but Sherlock was obsessed with learning things/information/data/ect. His mind was like a computer and sometimes he talked like it was one. Yes, he did like to go out and get wasted and had plenty of sex, surely, but it seemed like most of his time was dedicated to doing something with his massive brain. He was constantly reading or telling John about an experiment he had done recently. Sherlock was a genius but he hated attending his classes and only did so if forced. He told John that he was only attending in order to get the money in his trust fund.  
  
The man also had very little knowledge of pop culture. John was shocked to find out that the man had never heard of Lady Gaga and had not seen one episode of Doctor Who. It was almost as if he were living in a totally different century. John wondered if he even had a television at his flat. He was very intrigued when he found out that Sherlock had been playing violin since his childhood after John made a comment about how he was utter shite at the clarinet.  
  
“Mostly for my Uncle.” John reminded her.  
  
“Not for all the sex you’ve been having?”  
  
John blushed, “No, I - what - I am not having a lot of sex.”  
  
“Four times in four days good for you… along with Friday night, too. Are you boyfriends?”  
  
He snickered, “God, no.” Sherlock was smart and extremely attractive but he was also one of the biggest pricks John had ever met. He was cold and emotionless and didn’t care about other’s feelings, someone John would never be able to date.  
  
“Yeah, right.” She straightened his tie. “So what’s this thing about tonight?”  
  
“It’s a champagne reception. Apparently they take us out tonight to get pissed then wake us up early in the morning for a scavenger hunt.” Sherlock told him everything that the next week was going to entail. Too much drinking on weekdays for John’s liking but at least it was the start of the term.  
  
“Try to not to drink too much, you’ll do better on the hunt then.”  
  
“I’ll try but I don’t want to stand out.” According to Sherlock he already seemed out of place to some of the others. Too middle-class apparently.  
  
“I just don’t want to bring you to hospital with alcohol poisoning.” She pulled her hair back as the bell rang. “But have fun, good luck. That’s probably your date.”  
  
“Not my date.” John checked himself once more in the mirror. He didn’t look terrible. He had to admit he looked good. The stone grey trousers were an excellent cut and the jacket fit him perfectly. The marine blue shirt and grey tie did bring out his eyes just as the shop assistant said they would.  
  
“John! Sherlock’s waiting!” Molly called up.  
  
“Go on, you look like the rest of those posh bastards.” Sarah gave him a nudge towards the stairs. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
He pecked her on the cheek then headed down to the foyer where Sherlock was studying his phone.  He was in his typical black suit, no tie and deep purple shirt. “Finally.” Sherlock drawled. “There’s a car waiting for us.”  
  
“You hired one?”  
  
“No, the club does it for the new members.” Sherlock finally looked up to John. He couldn’t tell if the other man was checking him out or just seeing what he had been up to over the day.  
  
“Let’s go then.”  
  
John headed out front to where the black, expensive looking car was and Sherlock was on his heels. They settled in for the ride after Sherlock reminded the driver where they were going to.  
  
“Don’t be so nervous.” Sherlock reminded him as the car pulled from the curb. “You don’t have to impress anyone.”  
  
“Easy for you to say.” John couldn’t help his leg from shaking.  
  
“You know all there is to know about the club, you’re smart, wealthy, personable, and good looking. They’ll like you just fine.”  
  
“Now that I’ve dressed for the part?”  
  
Sherlock sighed, “Yes, sadly. You shouldn’t care what they think of you anyway.”  
  
“Says the man who always fits in.”  
  
The other man frowned, “I don’t care what others think and neither should you. There are far more important matters. How do you know I fit in? I’ve always been the smartest in my class and never made effort to make friends.”  
  
John scratched his head, “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be.” Sherlock stared out the window, watching the streets of Oxford go by.  
  
“So, ah, what should I expect tonight?” John changed the subject.  
  
“Lots of champagne. They’re going to get you as inebriated as possible before carting you back home then waking you up before seven in the morning.”  
  
John groaned in pain just thinking about the hangover that he was going to be facing.  
  
“The rest of the members will try to chat with you about your past and no doubt try to find out your family’s net worth… in your case your own net worth. They’ll be plenty of tedious small talk too, you’ll do fine with that.”  
  
“Thanks.” He could feel his eyes rolling without even thinking about it.  
  
“That wasn’t a compliment.”  
  
“I know, arsehole.”  
  
John looked at Sherlock to see the man fighting a smile.  
  
“You did eat dinner, correct? They’re going to give you just champagne for the rest of the night.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It wasn’t long until they pulled up to The Duke of Earl. John followed Sherlock to the private room where the rest of the members were. He immediately felt out of place. He just felt like someone put lipstick on a pig with his suit. John had never been to a function outside of a funeral where he had to dress up like this. Even if he was dressed to fit in he certainly didn’t carry himself like the rest of them. They had probably been doing these type of things since they were kids.  
  
“You look fine.” Sherlock murmured before he went to grab a glass of champagne, not looking at John once. It was like he was ashamed to say that to another person.  
  
What John had gathered from the brief conversations with Sherlock that didn’t have to do with the club or classes or Sherlock’s experiments was that Sherlock didn’t date. In fact, he said he didn’t ‘do feelings’. John wasn’t sure what that exactly meant but he figured that the man put up a fence around his heart and kept everyone out. It didn’t even seem like Sherlock had any friends.  
  
John wasn’t sure where they stood in friendship terms. Sherlock was in charge of seeing him through the initiation week but after that he was probably just going to see him at their dinners and whatever else he has to do with the club. But he enjoyed Sherlock’s company, even if he could be an arse at times, so he didn’t want to do that. If Sherlock didn’t do friendships then he probably wouldn’t consider doing one with the guy he was supposed to just have a one-night stand with then ended up being his guide for about two weeks.  
  
“You should mingle.” Sherlock handed him a glass when he returned to his side. “Apparently that’s the proper thing to do at events like this.”  
  
“What are you going to do?”  
  
“Drink and only talk to those I can stand.” He tipped his glass towards a tall blonde man.  
  
John looked around at the group. In his binder he got a listing with pictures of all the current members, along with Sherlock’s insight. Sherlock pointed out that he should pay attention to the other members on the executive board because it would make his life easier if they didn’t completely hate him.  
  
The rat-faced bastard was Joshua Anderson, who was currently glaring at John. His father was an MP and former member of the club while his mother an actress. John was unsure of who’s features he got, Sherlock said he looked like his father. According to Sherlock he was supposed to be exclusively dating a girl named Sally Donovan but was sleeping around behind her back. He was also a stuck-up jerk. John could care less about Anderson after his little encounter before he knew he had money so he would ignore him for now.  
  
But Jim Moriarty was an obvious. He was “The General” and all that. He was short, shorter than John who normally felt like the shortest man in the room. Sherlock said he was power hungry and would do anything to preserve the club’s name. He was basically a wannabe Napoleon.  
  
“Oh, hello, John Watson. I’m the President James Moriarty but you can just call me Jim, please. I honestly am shocked to see Sherlock actually got you here. He’s a bit… unreliable.” John was a little surprised by the Irish lilt.  
  
He laughed awkwardly because so far Sherlock seemed to always be where he said he was going to be on time, or within ten minutes, “Ha, ah, yeah.”  
  
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we invited you now instead of last year.” Jim’s smile was a bit too fake for John.  
  
“A little.”  
  
“Your Uncle was a hit here as my father has recently told me. He was going through some old photos over the summer and reminiscing. He also mentioned how he passed recently, sorry for your loss. I asked around to see if there were any Watsons on campus when I returned and here you are.”  
  
“Oh, well, um, thank you.” John nodded.  
  
“I’d stay and talk more but I must make the rounds. Do drink up.” He grinned before walking away.  
  
That wasn’t too bad, John thought as he downed the rest of his champagne and soon enough someone was taking the empty glass and putting a full one in his hand, “Victor Trevor.” The man Sherlock had gone to speak to earloer. John was told not to worry about Victor but he didn’t feel like having to charm someone at the moment, so the rest of Jim’s henchmen could wait.

“Hi, yeah, John Watson. Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Are you ready for the next week?”  
  
“Ah, hope so.”  
  
“Don’t worry it's not too bad. Sherlock probably made a big deal of it, drama queen.” He smiled fondly.  
  
“Ha, not too big of a deal. Where is he?”  
  
“Stepped out to use the loo.” Victor sighed. “So, what do you study?”  
  
“Medicine.”  
  
“That’s interesting. We don’t have any other future doctors here. Sherlock’s the only lab rat, really. Are you getting on with him?”  
  
“Yeah, just fine.”  
  
“Hmm, you must be something else. Usually he’s a bit… difficult.”  
  
John furrowed his brow. He was starting to wonder about Sherlock’s popularity in the club. They didn’t like him and he didn’t like them, so why even bother on both ends? Was tradition really that important to everyone?

“I’ll let you move on, have a good night John. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”  
  
The rest of the night went by like a blur. Every time his glass was empty or almost empty somehow he would end up with a full glass. He made his way through speaking to everyone in the club, except for Anderson who seemed to avoid him the entire night. They weren’t so bad but not people John normally would spend his time with. He didn’t really see Sherlock until the end of the night.  
  
“You did very well with not getting drunk.” Sherlock said sarcastically. John’s head was swimming and his face felt fuzzy. “It’s time to go home.”  
  
“Are you coming with me?” His voice was low and he was in Sherlock’s personal space.  
  
“Sure.” Sherlock pulled away, looking annoyed. “I’m supposed to be waking you early so I might as well be there and save myself a trip.”  
  
“You’re brilliant.” John followed mindlessly to the car outside.  
  
The next thing he knew Sherlock was saying his name and shoving at his good shoulder. “Wake up, John. Come on, John, I’d very much like to continue sleeping once you’re up and moving.”  
  
“I feel like I’m going to die.” John threw an arm over his forehead and squinted. Just the sun peaking through the curtains was hurting his eyes.  
  
“Drink some water, throw on a pair of sunglasses, and you’ll be fine. You have to do this stupid hunt. Your first clue has been texted to you. You have to send a photo of whatever it is you’ve found for the next clue. Go on.”  
  
John pried himself from his bed and looked down to the floor, his head felt like a stone. He looked at his phone:

> **The words are nailed in the door. Our own Richard Garfield hammered it home. Surely your head feels like one of those nails this morning.**

“No peel, on the burned door at the bottom of the stairs in Great Hall at Christ Church.” Sherlock yawned. “Now go and try not to vomit too many times.” Sherlock settled back into the bed only in his pants and a tee shirt that was John’s. John was still in his suit, which was now spectacularly wrinkled.  
  
“Fuck me.” John groaned. “I’m going to shower.”  
  
“No time. If you win you don’t have to partake in the naked running through the Great Hall, where they will steal your clothes and make you run home naked.”  
  
John fumbled about to strip out of his clothes and throw on jeans, a clean shirt, and a sweatshirt then made his way to the stupid door. He only vomited twice and seemed to be the only person around at 6:30am on a Saturday. There were no signs of his fellow future members either.  
  
A minute after sending the picture John’s next clue popped up on his screen:

> **It’s all about the name. I’ve been stolen and my return showed that money could buy everything - of importance at least.**

John rubbed his face. There was no way he was going to solve that so he forwarded it to Sherlock. Five minutes later,

> **  
> For God's sake. The Brase Nose. It hangs in the Brasenose’s dining hall above the high table. Oxford.  
>  -SH**

  
“Bloody hell, okay.” He took a deep breath and headed in the direction of Brasenose’s dining hall.  
  
He made it through the next seven with ease, as much ease one could have with a blinding headache and churning stomach. He did not send one more text to Sherlock, which made him feel good about himself. It didn’t seem like anyone was catching up to him or in front of him. If there was someone in front then they must have rolled out of bed in their suit.         

> **SUPERO OMNIA**

The last clue popped up on his screen. John knew it was the club motto and it meant “I surpass everything”. _What surpasses everything? Come on Watson… you’re the highest when you surpass everything. Highest. Highest. Above everything. The highest place on campus is Magdalen Tower.  
  
_ He walked towards High Street. It was five past nine now, so people were out doing what people do on Saturday mornings.  
  
Soon enough he was in front of Magdalen Tower where Joshua Anderson was standing in front of a large door holding an equally large bronze key. “Here you go. You can go up to the top, they’re waiting.” He wasn’t sure if the ‘they’re waiting’ meant the four others or someone else.  
  
John pushed the key in and opened the heavy door. Of course, there were hundreds of narrow stairs, spiral to boot. John somehow managed not to vomit on his dizzying ascent and was sure that he was going to have to take a nap or something at the top before coming back down.  
  
When he got to the top he pushed open the wooden door to be greeted with a view of Jim Moriarty, the rest of the executive board (other than Anderson), and four general members of The Centurion Club. “John Watson, what a surprise. We had money on Henry’s boy.” Jim smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. “Seeing that Sherlock isn’t here we assumed he forgot to wake you as well.”  
  
John laughed as Henry Knight handed him a glass of water.  
  
“Congratulations, you do surpass everyone today. Your reward is you may go home and recover until tomorrow.”  
  
“I don’t get how Holmes’ one won.” Bradstreet shook his head.  
  
Jim made a clicking noise, “Boys, boys, boys, let’s go. We have some things to take care of.”  
  
John returned home to see Sherlock stretched out in his bed. He stripped down to his pants and joined him.  
  
“You won. ” Sherlock’s voice was full of sleep.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
John curled up on his side, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s bicep.

* * *

Sunday night, Sherlock tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Euphoria. Clarity. Sharpness. Nasal inhalation was not his favourite way to get high but it worked when he was out. He was not even halfway through the evening and John was holding his own on the table. They were peppering the new recruits with endless questions about inane facts about The Club and campus. If they were not the ones to answer then they had to drink. Clearly sex was a positive reinforcement for studying worked. He was going to have to look further into that at some point.  
  
“Come on, Sherly.” Victor pulled him into a heated kiss. “They’ll miss us.”  
  
“Hardly.” Sherlock fisted Victor’s jacket and knocked him back against the stall.  
  
There was a high-pitched whistle, “You two, this is a proper establishment.” Seb said as Victor kissed Sherlock one more time then slipped out from his grip. “Be careful, Sherlock people might think you two are dating again.”  
  
He walked past Seb, ignoring the fake, scandalised look he was giving him, and went back towards their private room.  
  
Walking in from the placidness of the main dining area to The Club’s room was like walking into another world. There was soft music playing and whispered tones being used by the core group of diners. Meanwhile voices of thirty men were loud and mostly slurring in their room. The occasional group ‘whoop’ would come up for impressive right answers. It was a lot for Sherlock to take in but he loved it. Sometimes the quiet was too much to bear.  
  
“John Watson, you are on fire.” Jim practically sang and jumped for joy.  
  
“What founding member stole a corpse from the mortuary and sat it in the Christ Church dining room for breakfast service in protest of the food?” Victor asked, sweeping in front of the table as Anderson poured three more shots over the shoulders of the men.  
  
“Riley! He was into politics.” The short one with the big ears yelled.  
  
“Incorrect, Grimshaw, drink up.”  
  
John and Sherlock locked eyes as a devious smirk blossomed across his face, “That sounds like a Holmes thing, the dead body and all.”  
  
“You boys are really letting him take it to you. Must be getting quite pissed by now.”  
  
The ginger one took his shot then immediately vomited.  
  
“’s not fair.” The one named Doyle said, ignoring what the ginger had done to the table. “This Holmes is his bloody minder!”  
  
“Yeah!” Daily protested.  
  
Jim slammed his fist on the table, “Enough! There’s been one question pertaining to a Holmes, you four missed questions about your own ancestors.” Jim straightened up again. “Get Masters out of here.”  
  
John’s impressive ability to hold all the new information he had learned in the last few days was quite the turn on. He was slightly inebriated as well but had enough capacity to know the correct answers. John was even using logic when he didn’t know the answers to make an educated guess.  
  
About thirty minutes later Doyle, Grimshaw, and Daily had all reached near alcohol poisoning levels and John was declared the winner. “Sherlock, take him home and make sure he doesn’t get lost.” Jim said after patting John on the back.  
  
“I can manage.” John brushed by Sherlock.  
  
“No, it’s his duty for the week. He’s already missed a few things he should have taken care of.” Sherlock buttoned his jacket. “Have a good night.” Jim winked.  
  
It wasn’t until they were crossing the street to John’s house that either spoke, “Are you high?”  
  
Sherlock paused, deciding how he should play it. If he said yes, John being a future doctor would no doubt voice his displeasure and Sherlock felt something odd in him that didn’t want to displease John ( _stupid, who cares? It would ruin my plans tonight though…)_. If he said no then he would have to come up with a clever excuse.  
  
“No.”  
  
John squinted, “You seemed, I don’t know, oddly ok with being there tonight.”  
  
“Your knowledge was rather a turn on, if you must know.”  
  
“Hmmm.” John said, digging in his pocket for keys as the approached the door. “Is that your kink then?”  
  
“That and maybe some light bondage and a bit of spanking.” Sherlock said as nonchalant as possible as John opened the door.  
  
“Not sure if you’re kidding or not.” He dropped his voice as they made their way upstairs.  
  
“Have you even discovered your kink yet? You’ve had very vanilla sex with two people.”  
  
John didn’t speak again until they entered his room, “I’m surprised you don’t know it. Speaking of sex, you didn’t have to follow me all the way back.” His tone wasn’t as soft as it was downstairs.

“I was rather hoping you wouldn’t object, seeing they practically kicked me out of the party.”  
  
“You can go back.” John pointed behind him at the closed door.  
  
“With those idiots?”  
  
“Victor likes you, he seems smart.”  
  
“He is and I’ve had him plenty of times.”  
  
“So, I’m your new thing to do?”  
  
Sherlock studied John, “Do you care?”  
  
The shorter man swallowed then shook his head, “No.”  
  
“Now back to what you were saying about your kink. It’s rather evident, you’re into the idea of a bit of come play. Facials. Your online porn habits say a lot.”  
  
John blushed a deep red.  
  
“We can explore that some other day because tonight I’d liked to be fucked.”  
  
“You just get to the point.” John huffed out a breath.  
  
“I find it boring when people don’t.”  
  
John bit his lip then looked Sherlock up and down, “Strip then.”  
  
“Good man, Watson. You’re a fast learner.” Sherlock could feel a wide smile on his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Am I not an idiot?”  
  
“You’re all idiots but you are… you’re one of…”  
  
“Oh, hurts to compliment people, yeah?” John tossed his jacket to the side.  
  
“No, you’re an idiot, your suit-”  
  
“Can go to the cleaners.”  
  
Sherlock watched as John moved to undo his tie.  
  
“If I’m the idiot why am I the only one getting naked, here?”  
  
“Only on some level are you an idiot, every body is.” Sherlock began to work on his buttons as John gave him a wicked grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a little break until September with vacation then balancing a few jobs and classes starting up I'm putting this on the back burner for a bit. I'll be updating again in mid-September.


	4. John's First Stake-out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is inducted as a member. Sherlock has a case and drags John along.

“Now that you’re going to be inducted as a real member into this club we won’t be seeing your lovely guide around much, will we?” Greg questioned John Friday morning on their walk to class.  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
“He’s a wanker.”  
  
John shrugged. It was not the first time he had heard one of his flatmates complain about Sherlock. “He’s really not as bad as you think.” Two weeks ago John would have been shocked to know that he was going to be sticking up for Sherlock Holmes or hoping the man was going to continue to stick around.  
  
Even though John didn’t need to do much more studying, Sherlock still came over. John didn’t complain. Most of the time there wasn’t even pretense of sex, they just sat together and worked on whatever either of them needed to get done. There was no other way to describe it other than to say it was _nice._  
  
“The bastard’s always over but he barely talks to any of us. Not that it matters because you’re always in your room.” He scoffed. “Sherlock just walks right by us without talking when we let him in or if he comes down to get something to drink.” He moved his hand back and forth in front of him to get his point across. “He’s a dick. He makes everyone uncomfortable.”  
  
“Once you get to know him he’s not like that.” _If he likes you enough._ “He can be a little abrupt but he’s just straightforward, no bullshit.”  
  
“If you say so.” He gave John a thoughtful look. “Are you positive you two aren’t dating?”  
  
“Absolutely sure.” John gave him a look to convey, ‘how could you even think that’. “You sound like Molly.”  
  
“So you have sex, you talk, and you spend time together. It sounds like a boyfriend. Bill’s been gone for almost a year now. Maybe you should get back out there, mate.” He shrugged. “If Sherlock’s not an arse like you say, maybe it should be with him.”  
  
“Not even a year.” John tried not to think about Bill often because when he did he found himself getting stuck in a rut for a few days afterwards. In March he had enlisted and went off to fight in Afghanistan. Before that they had dated for a year and a half, John’s longest real relationship. Bill was never sure what he wanted to do after graduating, so he followed John to Oxford and they shared a small flat together while John studied and Bill worked in a restaurant. It was all domestic bliss until Bill told John he was enlisting.  
  
“Change of subject then, you’re not hungover this morning like you have been.”  
  
“They gave us the night off from ridiculous drinking games and testing out knowledge of useless club things.” John was sure his liver was going to fail soon. “Tonight’s our first official dinner.”  
  
“You’ll be eating fancy things and drinking the best alcohol.”  
  
“Sherlock said we might be going on some trip, it happens every so often.” John checked his phone to see a text from Sherlock.

 

> **BORED  
>  -SH**

  
“That’s fun. You’re also saying that I shouldn’t worry if you don’t come home tonight or this weekend.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Your classes aren’t suffering, are they?”  
  
“No dad and after this weekend things will calm down to one night a week.”  
  
Greg nodded as John texted Sherlock back, “Someone has to watch out for you.”  
  
He was happy to have his friends who were so protective of him. His parents weren’t exactly the most caring people on the face of the planet. His parents weren’t people he wanted around now that he was an adult. Harry could be just as terrible as them, so he avoided her as well. His friends were really all that he had.

> **Don’t you have a class to go to?**

“Are you texting him?”  
  
“Yes, bugger off.”  
  
Greg just smiled.

> **I’m coming over.  
>  -SH  
>   
>  I have class  
>   
>  Something interesting just came up anyway  
>  -SH**

Later that night John found himself sitting in the poshest restaurant he could ever imagine and consuming a plateful of food that probably cost more than the contents of his fridge combined. Not to mention all the people in the room were connected to prominent families. He probably couldn’t count up to their combined net worth. It really boggled his brain that he was a part of it all.  
  
The night was far mellower than he thought it was going to be but it was only ten, plenty of time for something to happen. Jim was talking about The Club and how much the new members were going to enjoy it but John was distracted as he had been all day. Bill’s name being brought up always led to him thinking about what he was doing and how his tour was going or maybe he was home…  
  
“You’re thinking about someone.” Sherlock leaned closer to him. “Your thinking is very annoying.”  
  
“How is my thinking annoying you?” He frowned, turning to look at Sherlock.  
  
The other man glanced over to Jim who was now sitting and chatting with Sebastian and Joshua, “I’m on a case. I need to leave the group by eleven in order for me to make it to my stake-out location. Your thinking is disturbing my own thinking, which is far more important.”  
  
“Oh, thanks so much.” He reached for his wine.  
  
Sherlock huffed before straightening up, “Don’t drink anymore.”  
  
“I thought you said I shouldn’t stand out and who are you to tell me what I can and can’t drink?”  
  
He sat back in his chair, “You’re officially ‘in’ now, so it doesn’t matter as much. We’ll be leaving for the club in five minutes. You and I will spend twenty minutes there and by that time the rest of them will be too wrapped up in mindless nonsense to realise or care that we’ve left.”  
  
John opened then closed his mouth as he tried to figure out if he had missed something, “What?”  
  
“Do keep up, John. I need another person to join me on the stake-out, I can only look so many places at once.”  
  
Sherlock looked angry that he needed help so John didn’t say anything to him about it, “Right, okay. Where are we going?”  
  
“I’ll inform you later.”  
  
“What are you two plotting?” Victor smiled at them from across the table. “Something scandalous, I hope.”  
  
“Nothing you’d be interested in.” Sherlock glared down at his drink.  
  
“As long as you’re going to be joining us tonight-”  
  
“Yeah, of course we are,” John said quickly as he noticed a few members leaving.  
  
“Well, if you’ll excuse me I’m going for a cigarette, care to join Sherly?”  
  
“Hmm, yes.”

John was left feeling a bit awkward because everyone around him had disappeared. His phone vibrated in his pocket,

> **Leave now. They’re about to come in to settle the bill.-SH**

He stood up without drawing too much attention to himself and left the dining room. He felt bad for leaving the poor sods to pay but they probably had enough money to pay for dinner a million times over. Then again he did too.  
  
“Oh, John, there you are.” Sherlock tossed his cigarette on the pavement before stomping it out. Victor wasn’t there with him. “Let’s get to the club now to make our appearance.”  
  
“Can you please tell me what exactly I’m going to be doing?”  
  
“A chemistry professor, whose equipment has been stolen, approached me today because the police and security can’t find a thing, unsurprisingly. Three weeks now he has locked up the two supply rooms on a Friday afternoon and then when he returns on Monday morning something is missing, so far two boiling flasks and hydrogen chloride.” Sherlock explained as he and John walked to the club, which was not too far away.  
  
“Why would someone want to steal those?”  
  
“I’ve done some research and apparently there’s an American television show called Breaking Bad-”  
  
“Oh, the one with the bloke who cooks meth.”  
  
“Yes, and he apparently uses these things. Someone fancies themselves a chemist and wants to make money.”  
  
“Why do you think they’ll come tonight at eleven.”  
  
“Midnight, we need to get to The Chemistry Research Laboratories before that. The last check of the area by security occurs at 11:45. I don’t believe they would go before that.”  
  
“You’re not even sure they’re going to come tonight.”  
  
“No, but this is all I have to go on at the moment.”  
  
John still didn’t know what he was really getting himself into but it seemed like fun. His liver would probably appreciate the much-needed break. He hadn’t been around the other members without Sherlock to go back to when things became either boring or awkward.  
  
“Did you receive a call from a former partner today?” Sherlock questioned him abruptly.  
  
“Ah, no, why?”  
  
“You have a look of longing and you seem pained emotionally. You don’t currently have a boyfriend or girlfriend so it’s not as if you just broke up with someone today. I don’t believe something has happened with a loved one because you’re not close to your family, maybe your sister? Even if it were a family problem you’d most likely be attending to that, not at dinner. So it’s a past partner. Is it the man in the picture on your desk?”  
  
John hated how Sherlock could come to conclusions through deductions, well usually he liked it but when he used it like this on him it wasn’t very nice.  
  
“It was. He broke up with you because-”  
  
“Sherlock, just shut the fuck up.” John snapped at him as they approached The Club. “Just leave it alone, all right? I’m so-”  
  
“The only thing you should apologise for is being obvious,” Sherlock said in his best bored tone.  
  
John followed Sherlock into The Club without saying another word. He was sure that Sherlock wasn’t trying to be purposefully hurtful but he didn’t want to talk about Bill, especially with someone who had no idea how to handle emotions

Twenty minutes of watching everyone else start to get pissed passed slowly, Sherlock headed towards the door and John went after him.

“Do stop being angry with me, it could make for a long night.” Sherlock buttoned up his coat.  
  
“I’ll just go home then.” John looked across the road.  
  
“Go on but this will be far more interesting.”  
  
“You’re infuriating,” He muttered as they walked towards the Chemistry Research Laboratories. He probably should have gone home but it did sound much better than sitting at home or drinking another night with the same people he had been hanging around nearly every single night. 

“I’ve been told that many times.”  
  
“Bastard.”  
  
They went the rest of the way in silence.  
  
Sherlock broke into the labs easily, which should have surprised John but nothing Sherlock did shocked him one bit.  
  
“You’re going to be watching the storage closet that was broken into last week. I don’t believe they’ll hit there tonight because they’ve alternated but maybe it’s due to what’s there and what they need. I’m not exactly sure they’ll even be back tonight but it’s all I have to go on at the moment. You’ll hide under the instructor’s table.”  
  
“Ok, what do I do if they come in?”  
  
“Text me.”  
  
John felt strange as he walked the empty hallways. He knew he shouldn’t have been doing it but there was a bit of adrenaline running through his veins, making it exciting. He always did like dangerous things (climbing trees and jumping off, driving too fast…). Sadly it started to wear off an hour later as John waited in silence.  
  
He banged his head against the floor out of boredom. He couldn’t stand looking at the bloody door any longer. How could Sherlock Holmes deal with this? The man got bored when talking about what he wanted to order for dinner.  
  
Fifteen minutes later Sherlock’s voice echoed throughout the empty building, “OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE!”  
  
He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door.  
  
 _What the fuck am I going to do?_ He asked himself as two men, who were dressed like they were puling off a jewelry heist, and Sherlock came barreling at him.

* * *

Sherlock could not take how bored and upset John looked over dinner. It was excruciating and annoying. Inviting him along to be a second set of eyes seemed like a decent enough idea to stop the man from ruining his own brain with no doubt meaningless thoughts. John was the least annoying, boring, and idiotic person he had come across at Oxford. Even over Victor because John didn’t care for material things or how much other people were worth. John cared about his studies and his friends, not much else. He found Sherlock frustrating and fascinating at the same time and was constantly complimenting his brilliance. Surely there was going to come a point where he would be bored of John Watson but until then he was going to keep him around.  
  
Sherlock’s head snapped up when he heard the tread of two sets of trainers and soon after the door creaked open. This was good, he was beginning to worry that they were not going to show their faces.  
  
“We ain’t gonna need that shite!” One whispered loudly.  
  
“Shut up arse face.”  
  
“I read it online, it’s just somethin’ they put in the show.”  
  
“Better safe than sorry, yeah?”  
  
 _Yes, these are clearly people who are going to be heading somewhere in the drug world._ Sherlock craned his neck to see if he could get a better look at the two men who were now trying to pick the lock to the closet. _Sloppy technique.  
  
_ Sherlock tried to inch closer because all he could make out was the builds of the men, 5’7” and 6’0”, average weight and build each. Important information but it didn’t give him much.  
  
“Bloody hell, you’re takin’ a long time.”  
  
“You can stop breathing in my bleedin’ ear!”  
  
Sherlock felt his eyes watering and pressure in his sinuses. _Transport, you do not need to sneeze. No. Okay._ That didn’t help. _Bloody hell._  
  
“Who the fuck is in here?”  
  
“Fuckin’ run!”  
  
Sherlock shot up to his feet and was on the heels of the two men. They were dressed in all black and wearing ski masks. _Idiots. They think they’re in some crime drama._  
  
“OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE!” He yelled as he started down the hall after two men, hoping John would come out of hiding. He completely forgot to text, all he could do was hope the man had enough brains to figure out what was happening.  
  
As he rounded the corner he didn’t see John. He knew he should have gone over signals. But then there was John, jumping out in front of the two men. He took one down, a tackle he had most likely had used before in rugby, and the other tripped over John’s leg.  
  
“Probably not good for your shoulder.” Sherlock restrained the other man, pinning him down with a knee to the center of his back.  
  
“Bugger off,” John sniped as he got a grip on the other man’s shoulders. “It’s fine.”  
  
“You said it would not heal correctly-”  
  
“You police?” The one Sherlock had under him questioned as he tried to wiggle to a more comfortable position.  
  
“No but we’ll keep you somewhere they’ll find you. John, your tie.”  
  
“We can’t make a citizen’s arrest!”  
  
Sherlock scoffed as he undid his horrid tie. At least the thing did have some practical use. “Bind his wrist with your tie then gather a few zip ties from the storage closet I was watching.”  
  
“My tie! Sherlock it costs-”  
  
He was never going to understand John’s worry over money when the man had a nearly endless supply, “Yes and you can buy millions more.”  
  
“What are you, posh cops? Bloody Oxford.”  
  
“I should just gag you,” Sherlock muttered as he tightly knotted the tie.  
  
“Where are we going to put them?”  
  
“There’s a lamp post right outside. I’ll call the cops as well as Professor Slater. Their prints are everywhere and I’m sure when they search these idiots’ flat they’ll find a growing meth lab.”  
  
The masked man below him twisted around to get a look at Sherlock, “Oi, you’re Sherlock Holmes. My buddy sells to you! He won’t anymore now if you’re puttin’ me away.”  
  
“You’re a moron.”  
  
John’s mouth was hanging open, “His buddy _sells to you_?”  
  
“John, the zip ties.” Sherlock ignored the judgment and anger ( _and disappointment?_ ) in John’s eyes.  
  
“Right, right, you got both of them?”  
  
Sherlock just nodded as John stood up and wandered down towards the other room.  
  
“Boyfriend didn’t know you get high?”  
  
“You should take your cues from your partner and remain silent. Also our apparent mutual acquaintance won’t take too kindly you were going to step on his feet by selling your own product. I doubt his suppliers would either.”  
  
“The meth he deals is awful and he doesn’t sell much! You know his main business is coke.”  
  
“Just shut up, arsehole,” His friend finally spoke up.

“You can not replicate the product they make on that dreadful show, you’re far too thick.” Sherlock texted Professor Slater, still holding his man down with a knee. “I however may be able to but I’d never be so stupid to steal from a University that keeps track of their supplies with weekly inventory. Neither of you attend Oxford, obviously. I doubt you even passed your GC-”  
  
“I can follow simple directions.”  
  
“You can’t even pick a lock correctly.” Sherlock tucked his phone in his pocket. “How do you expect to produce a perfect, flawless product?”  
  
“How-”  
  
“Shut up.” He jabbed his knee into the man’s back. “Your stupidity is giving me a headache.”  
  
It was blissfully silent until John returned with the zip ties.  
  
They brought the two men to the post outside and secured them there. “Police are on their way, we should be leaving.”  
  
“We’ll tell ‘em you attacked us.”  
  
Sherlock snorted, “Right, like they’re going to care,” He said over his shoulder before catching up to John. He could see every question flashing before the other man’s eyes. “Yes, I do drugs. Mostly cocaine. Sometimes heroine. No, I do not do meth. Yes, I know every effect on the system. No, I am not an addict. You’re not naïve, you know there are drugs at every party you attend for The Club.”  
  
“You were high that night-”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Stop reading my fucking mind.”  
  
“John, I am functional and I do not need a hit to get through the day.”  
  
He shook his head, “I’m going this way. You’re the other way right? I’ll see you around.”  
  
“This is ridiculous. I’m not high tonight, let’s shag. Even if I were, why would it matter?”  
  
“I-no, Sherlock…”  
  
It clicked in his brain. He deduced at least one of his parents was an alcoholic, most likely his father, and his sister was on the path as well. “Oh, you have enough addicts in your life. I can assure you-”  
  
“I’ve had enough of you tonight.” John rammed his finger into Sherlock’s chest. “First you see into my brain and tell me that I’m thinking too much about a former partner then you drag me along to break into the chemistry labs where I sat around for well over an hour looking at the wall, then I have to tackle someone and tie them up and then I find out you’re on drugs.”  
  
“You enjoyed the breaking in, stake-out, and tackling. You suspected that I was using before.” He wasn’t sure why John looked so disappointed in him. It’s not as if they were friends. They hadn’t known each other long at all. “I don’t understand why you care so much about the drugs.”  
  
“Jesus, Sherlock! You’re bloody brilliant.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And an arrogant sod but you shouldn’t be putting your brain at risk. You’re probably killing off brain cell after brain cell! Use some of that massive intellect to see what you’re doing is not good!”  
  
It seemed pointless to try to explain to John that drugs tended to help his brain, it kept things sorted and it also made people more tolerable. He only did it when things were absolutely impossible to deal with. He wouldn’t understand. “When you drink-”  
  
“I don’t drink often or enough to suffer any effects.”  
  
“I use as you drink.”  
  
John just rolled his eyes, “You call everyone else idiots. I think you are.”  
  
Sherlock was about to snipe John down with why he was an idiot but the man just walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hopefully I'll be able to update a bit more regularly.
> 
> Oh and kudos to Iriya for being an awesome beta!


	5. A Bit of Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock work out a deal on their friendship.

“Victor says that they’re going to tell us about the points game tonight.” Doyle said to John as they walked into The Grand Duchess.  
  
“Mmm, yeah?”  
  
John had not seen Sherlock in a week, not since the drugs argument. It was stupid, it was not like he should have cared about what Sherlock was doing. Something in his brain ( _future doctor or son and brother of alcoholics?_ ) made him want to get Sherlock clean. He was too smart to waste his brain on cocaine and whatever he was putting into his system. He was not like the rest of the members who were doing coke every time they went out. The man didn’t look like an addict but what do addicts really look like? He was wealthy so it as not as if he would have had to sell his things to support an addiction. He was not living on the street either. His grades weren’t suffering.  
  
“Something about sex.”  
  
“Yeah, isn’t it normally?”  
  
It had been a very boring week without Sherlock around to ramble on about experiments or the new findings in some scientific field or some gruesome murder that needed solving. He shouldn’t even be thinking about Sherlock. He was just an easy shag and an interesting bloke to chat with for a couple of weeks. He was an arse. In no way was the man friend material.  
  
“I can tell you this, mate, from what I hear, your Holmes is going to be the winner. Apparently he’s very good at bedding people. Bit of slag.”

John just shrugged. _How could anyone in The Club criticise Sherlock for how much sex  he has when all they care about is sex and partying?_  
  
“You shag him?”

He ignored the other man as the stepped into the private dinning room. Mostly everyone was already sitting in the opulent room. It was dark with burgundy wallpaper and a long mahogany table at the centre of the room. The room was lit dimly with candles and one massive chandelier, which was turned low.

Sherlock was nowhere to be found, so John took a seat across from Victor and next to Henry, the two men he found the least annoying. “Hello, Watson.” Victor leaned over and poured wine into his empty glass.  
  
He smiled at him, “Hi.”  
  
“How are things?”  
  
“All right, bit busy. Yourself?” He lied, sure he had a lot on his plate in terms of course work he had literally nothing else. Sherlock was right about his “boring little life”.  
  
“We were just talking about maybe taking a trip to Greece sometime soon, would you be interested? There’s this delightful villa I stayed at the other year in Ios. Have you been to Greece before?”  
  
“Ah, no.” John had never been out of the British Isles. He was going to change that over the coming semester break though to see his Uncle… uncle’s partner in France.  
  
“Well Ios is the so-called party island but it can also be very quiet for a getaway if you want it. It’s really the perfect balance to let off some steam. So you’ll come?”  
  
“Oh sure, yeah.” John nodded, hoping it wasn’t during a weekend where had any papers due or an exam.  
  
“Venturing out of the comforting confines of England? How shocking,” Sherlock said dryly as he sat in the empty seat next to John.  
  
“Look who’s back to strolling in late.” Victor smirked over at Sherlock.  
  
“I’m five minutes late. Some call that fashionably late, I believe.”  
  
“Whatever good influence John had over you is apparently gone.” Victor gestured between them.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the wine from the table, “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”  
  
John was sure he was making up the coldness that was coming off of Sherlock. The man was not the type to hold a grudge because he could not care less about others. It was John who was angry the other week anyhow, not Sherlock. John shouldn’t have been angry with Sherlock, it was not like he was hurting John but there was that constant nagging in the back of his head. He had dealt with his father being a mean drunk his entire life and then saw his sister slip down the same dark path. Sherlock believed he had control but it was most likely a delusion. John was afraid to get involved with it. But Sherlock was something else. He wanted the man around but he didn’t want to deal with the drugs.  
  
Halfway through dinner Jim stood up to make an announcement, “Boys I would like to announce our yearly points game.”  
  
John pushed around his rice on the plate, not caring too much about the topic. Sherlock said he could manipulate it to look as if John was trying no matter what it was. _I probably need to talk to him about that…  
  
_ “There are 38 Colleges and Six Permanent Private Halls. The challenge is to shag one person from each college and private hall. You have 24 school weeks to do so. We need photographic proof, don’t forget, gentlemen. You must send the image to my phone directly as soon as you can.” Jim smiled.  
  
John looked around the table and most of the men were bragging to each other about how they were going to win. Sherlock just took a long drink of his wine.  
  
Victor rolled his eyes, “This competition is so juvenile,” he said softly to John, Sherlock, and Henry.  
  
“Quite.” Sherlock looked bored.  
  
“I don’t understand what it has to do with a thing.” Henry kept his voice low.  
  
“Well, are you coming out tonight, Sherly?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I wasn’t sure, you’ve been busy with your silly experiments.”  
  
“They’re hardly silly, Victor.”  
  
“I’m just teasing you, love.”  
  
Sherlock huffed in annoyance.  
  
“You’re coming along as well, John. We should all get cracking at this, if only to pacify Jim.” Victor sighed.  
  
John shrugged.  
  
Going to clubs with the rest of the men from The Centurion Club was as far out of John’s element as he could ever imagine being. He would rather have been stranded on an island with no human contact than standing in a room full of drunk, high, and sweating arseholes. Most of them were busy trying to pull girls and the rest were to busy being loud and judging people. Well, most of them but Sherlock, Victor, and Henry. John stuck close to the three of them but didn’t engage too much in conversation, he was fine just watching the room.  
  
It had become obvious that Victor and Henry were the only ones who Sherlock could tolerate for long periods of time. They were also the people he complained about the least. It seemed they had a longer fuse for him as well. But Sherlock never referred to them as his friends. John was left wondering if the man had any at all. Sherlock hated people and people hated Sherlock. That whole situation should have turned John off of any idea of a friendship with Sherlock but it didn’t.  
  
“Not surgically attached to his hip, then?” Sally Donovan appeared at John’s side at the bar.  
  
“Um, hi?” John had met Sally one more time before over the initiation week. She seemed just as rude and annoying as her boyfriend, Josh.  
  
“Sherlock. I haven’t seen you going round with the freak.”  
  
John narrowed his eyes. No matter how he felt about Sherlock’s drug abuse and how he treated others he would never call Sherlock a freak.  
  
“You know he doesn’t _do_ relationships.”  
  
He ignored her and ordered a drink.  
  
“He’s a heartless bastard. Broke Victor’s heart last year, you know? Shags every bloke that has a pulse… actually maybe the ones that don’t, too. That seems to turn him on.”  
  
“Why are you talking to me?”  
  
“You’re looking down. Figured it had to do with him.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Like I said, you’re always out with Holmes. Everyone thinks you’re shagging but things were different this week.”  
  
“Not that it’s anyone’s business but we aren’t and I’m fine.”  
  
“Hmm, sure. At least look like you’re enjoying yourself, Jim commented on how miserable you looked.”  
  
 _Great, getting attention from the one person I do not want attention from._ “I’m having fun.”  
  
“You scowling is a funny way showing it.”  
  
John walked away, drink in hand, and found Henry chatting up some girl. Sherlock and Victor were nowhere to be seen. Luckily the girl Henry was with had a friend who seemed perfectly nice and was easy to talk to.

He ended up leaving the club when he realised that the girl was just a Club groupie.  
  
“Leaving so early?”  
  
John stopped suddenly to look up to see Sherlock on the pavement near the club having a cigarette. “I’m going home. There’s a paper I could be working on.”  
  
“Why are you avoiding me, John?” Sherlock said quickly.  
  
“I’m not avoiding you.”  
  
“You saw me in the labs the other day and avoided making eye contact with me. Two of my text messages went unanswered. You barely spoke a word to me over dinner. You refused to look at me in the club. Those are signs of avoiding someone, yes?”  
  
“I - I guess. I just-”  
  
“Would you like to shag? I’m bored here.”  
  
He took in Sherlock’s blown pupils, his eyes seeming like they were unable to focus, his tapping foot, and clenching and unclenching fist. “No.”

“Honestly, John-”  
  
“Go shag someone else, sure it won’t be too hard.”  
  
“Are you jealous? John, we are not dating.”  
  
“I know we aren’t and I also don’t want to date you. We’re friends, I can care about you. Doing drugs is going to ruin you and you’re too smart to have your brain ruined.”  
  
“Go on, go be boring with your flatmates.” Sherlock shooed him.  
  
“Yeah, at least I have a good time with them. You never look like you’re having a good time.” That was a lie. Sherlock looked like he was having a great time when he was sitting on John’s bed reading or writing notes in the library or talking about something he found particularly interesting.

“I can’t with people who are idiots.”

John could feel a smile tugging at his lips but he kept a straight face. “Right, I’m going back home to have a better night with my friends. You stay here and hate everyone.”  
  
He walked home in silence, trying not to think about Sherlock or The Club. He was doing it for his Uncle, that was all he needed to tell himself about The Club. Sherlock though, he wasn’t sure. He was never more annoyed and intrigued by a person at the same time.

When he got back to his house everyone was at the kitchen table playing poker, “John! Come play, Molly’s cleaning us all out.” Sarah patted the empty chair.  
  
“Um, no thanks. I’m just going to head upstairs.”  
  
“All right, mate?” Mike studied his friend.  
  
“Fine, just tired.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Greg flailed his hands around before reaching for his beer. “Can you go back to shagging that arsehole or just shagging someone? I’ll find you someone!”  
  
“How pissed is he?” John cocked his eyebrow.  
  
“Pissed. Very, very pissed.” Molly nodded with an innocent grin.  
  
“Ah, I see how you’re winning.” John smiled.  
  
“Where is he? Where is your mysterious arsehole?”  
  
John laughed at Greg as he stood up and nearly tripped over his chair.  
  
“I’ll go fuckin’ chin ‘im. What’d he do?”  
  
“He didn’t do anything. It’s all fine.” He was not going to tell his mates that Sherlock used drugs. They already hated how he acted. They didn’t need anything else to hold against him. “Greg, you need to get to bed.”  
  
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re slurring your words.”  
  
“Yes, Doctor.”  
  
“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”  
  
“Why aren’t you drunk? Is that not a thing you lot do? Get wasted and do shitty things?” Greg questioned as John steered him towards the stairs.  
  
“They do those things. I’m just honoring my uncle.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? It’s not the beautiful wanker you’ve been shaggin’ that’s keepin’ you there?”  
  
“No.” John scoffed.  
  
“You should date ‘im.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Bill’s long gone, mate.”  
  
John just made a noncommittal noise. _No thinking about Bill._  
  
“Shag that crazy bastard.”  
  
“Whatever you say, Greg.”  
  
John put his friend into bed before making his way to his own room alone. He really needed to study but he ended up staring at his ceiling pondering everything.

 

 

* * *

Sherlock scanned the shelves searching for the correct book on poisons. He looked up to see John sitting at a table nearby with his head resting on one of his books, fiddling with his pencil. Not having John around over the last two weeks had been rather aggravating. It was mostly aggravating because Sherlock disliked the fact that he wanted to be around John.  
  
He groaned as he plucked the book off the shelf. He walked over to the table, sitting himself opposite of John. “Will you stop avoiding me, it’s rather annoying?”  
  
John picked his head up from his book, “Bugger off, will you? Like I said the other night I am not avoiding you. I just don’t want to spend time with an addict.”  
  
“You’re being dull and I am not an addict.” Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh.  
  
“Why do you even care about me? Everyone, including yourself, says you generally don’t like people. Why do you want to hang out with me?”  
  
Sherlock frowned. He was not sure how to answer that question. For some reason he found John intriguing, mainly because things seemed to quiet down in his brain when he was around. When they would sit together while John worked on his schoolwork and Sherlock on whatever experiment or case he could organise this thoughts easier. It was odd. He didn’t mind Victor but not as much as he didn’t mind John. Victor also never made Sherlock feel organised either. _How strange?_  
  
He skipped answering the question and instead, “I am not an addict. I am not like your family.”  
  
John looked at Sherlock, his eyes filled with pain. “You don’t know anything about my family.”  
  
He knew enough of John’s family to understand John’s distaste for Sherlock’s so-called abuse of drugs. John’s father was an abusive alcoholic. John’s shoulder was not hurt in a rugby incident, no. More likely it was an altercation at the Watson home. That injury became more apparent the more he got to know about John. Mrs. Watson was an enabler, though she did like the drink herself. John’s sister was descending in alcoholism to cope with the physical and emotional abuse in her childhood as well as being disowned by her father who hated her for being a lesbian. John himself did not want to be anything like his immediate family. He most likely didn’t want to get involved with Sherlock in fear of becoming like his mother. John did not drink much when they went out and for the most part only drank on weekends with friends, with the exception of initiation week. He was getting himself an education, determined to do well in his life.  
  
“Actually you probably know everything but you don’t understand.” He rubbed his face. “Look, I like you. I enjoy being around you and I’d like to be your mate but-”  
  
“You do not want to be around me because of your past. I can tell you I am nothing like them.”  
  
John shook his head, “I don’t get any of this. I don’t get why you’re making an effort with me. I don’t get why you take drugs in the first place. I don’t get why you’re in The Club or even at Oxford.”  
  
Sherlock folded his arms, “I told why I’m here and why I am a part of the club.”  
  
“What about the drugs?”  
  
“It makes it easier to think or to get through events with those idiots.”  
  
John rubbed his face, “Are you high right now?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I can’t tell you what to do but I can’t hang out with you when you’re on drugs.”  
  
“That means you don’t mind being around me when I’m not high?”  
  
“Or not withdrawing.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Hmm, all right.” He opened his book. He could feel John’s eyes on him. “Are we not allowed to start now?”  
  
“I – yeah – yeah – ok.”  
  
“Very well then.”  
  
“Wipe the smug grin off of your face.” John mumbled. “You didn’t win.”  
  
“You have not learned yet that I always win.”  
  
“Piss off.” John finally went back to studying.  
  
A few nights later John watched as Sherlock pulled on his trousers. Sherlock had been looking at the picture of John and another man that he kept on his desk. “So this is the man you were thinking of the night I took you on a stake-out. You lived with him, correct? This looks like a shared flat. Why did you break up, though? It’s not something that you wanted.”  
  
John groaned and burrowed himself under the duvet. Sherlock knew he was going to be uncomfortable about this conversation but he was curious, “We just had sex. It’s one in the morning. Could you please turn your brain off for a moment?”  
  
“What happened? Hmm… he moved away? No, he joined the military. That’s interesting you’d break up with him because of that. You want to join the military after you receive your degree. You want to do something important with your degree and your grandfather was in the military.”  
  
John sat up and looked back to Sherlock. “I’d ask how you know all that but I don’t really care to.”  
  
Sherlock sighed loudly before going off into a tangent, “You have a photo of your grandfather next to a keepsake box on your chest of drawers, which contains various memorabilia from his time in the service. You looked up to him; he was a lot like your Uncle Hamish. You also want to do something worthwhile, that’s who you are. Not only worthwhile but you want to do something exciting because you have a reckless streak. You don’t want to work as a GP and you’d like to travel, so A &E wouldn’t work. You could do Doctors Without Borders but you clearly look up to your grandfather. So that’s how I know you want to join the military. I believe your ex-partner joined the military because the picture you keep of him on your Facebook profile his hair is cut as if he’s ready for boot camp while the one on your desk, he keeps it _shaggy_. It’s a bit of a guess but it makes sense. Did he break up with you or you with him? I would believe that it’s him leaving you because you keep pictures and such of him.”  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
Sherlock made a face. It wasn’t that he cared. It was that he was interested in knowing everything about John. Why? He still couldn’t be sure. “Because I like knowing these things.”  
  
“Right, yeah. You’re wrong about him leaving me. I broke up with him. I got angry because he did it behind my back. He enlisted and then told me. I would have dealt with it a bit differently if he didn’t do it behind my back. I was also being selfish because I know I couldn’t handle a long distance relationship like that.” He was lying about something.  
  
Sherlock nodded. “Are you going to join the military? If you do there is some sort of chance that you’d be stationed with him, correct. If that were to happen would you be back together?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t trust him.”  
  
Sherlock eyes widened as he realised what he had missed, “He cheated on you. There’s always something I miss the first go.”  
  
“I – yeah.” John tugged the blanket to his chin.  
  
“It makes even more sense now.” Sherlock pulled on his coat. “That’s why you’re so heartbroken-”  
  
“Sherlock, please, just let this go.”  
  
“Very well then.”  
  
“Where are you off to, by the way? You could sleep here.”  
  
“I need to do some surveillance. Mrs Hannaford is claiming that someone is breaking into her greenhouse and stealing her prized roses. I think tonight is a good night to entrap the culprit.” Sherlock tied his shoes. “Care to join?”  
  
“Sure, as long as I don’t have to tackle anyone.”  
  
“But you enjoyed it so much before.”  
  
John laughed as he climbed out of bed, “You’re going to get me killed aren’t you?”  
  
“I have no plans of that. It’s probably another little old lady, trying to over take Mrs Hannaford at the next event.”


	6. Accidental Overdose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A member of The Club dies and Sherlock investigates. John's flatmates annoy him.

Sherlock found himself in Victor’s bed. “Why am I here?” he groaned and hugged the pillow under his head. He really didn’t mean to sleep with Victor, it just seemed like a terrible habit at this point.  
  
“Well I’d say we had a fabulous night then.”  
  
He also didn’t mean to ask out loud. Sherlock closed his eyes tight. He remembered leaving John’s house after making plans to tail someone who was suspected of infidelity on Tuesday afternoon. He went out with Victor, Winston, Henry, and Francis. They went to Vouge Fourteen. He did a speedball. The night wasn’t too terrible. “Mmm.” He reached for his phone to see three texts from John.

 

> **Henry overdosed. He’s dead.**
> 
> **Were you there?**
> 
> **Are you ok?**

**  
**“Henry’s dead.” Sherlock squinted over to Victor on the other side of the bed.  
  
“What?” Victor sat straight up, he looked shocked.  
  
“John says that he overdosed. Henry doesn’t use drugs normally.” Sherlock tried to remember the last time he had seen Henry use.  
  
“That may be why he overdosed.”  
  
“Did he use what we did?”  
  
“No… bad supply? God, I can’t believe he’s gone…”

“Tragic.” Sherlock rolled out of bed and began to get dressed.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
Sherlock ignored Victor and started to go through his file on Henry as he finished putting himself together. By the time he got to John’s place he realised he didn’t have enough data on Henry but from what he had so far, there was nothing that could point to foul play. Henry didn’t have anyone who hated him nor was he involved in anything illegal. But the overdose did not fit Henry. He was always controlled and rarely used illegal substances. When he did it was in small doses.  
  
“Sherlock! Why didn’t you text me?” John was sitting at his kitchen table with all of his flatmates. _Hmm I got here quicker than I thought…_  
  
“Are they positive it was an overdose?”  
  
“Yeah. Found in the nightclub bathroom with an needle in his arm. You look like shite. Did you sleep last night? Were you out with him?” John stood up from his chair.  
  
“Yes but there was a point we lost each other. Needle? Henry did not use intravenously if he did at all.”  
  
“Christ. You - ”  
  
“Foul play, John. Henry is not a recreational user. Tell me, what did he overdose on?”  
  
“I don’t know, Jim didn’t say. Why would anyone kill Henry? Are you sure he wasn’t just being an idiot?” John looked confused but there was some sort of accusatory glare hidden there as well.  
  
“Everything is a possibility at the moment. I’m not sure why anyone would kill him, I need to look a bit deeper.”  
  
“Are you strung out?” The future barrister ( _who does not want to be barrister but instead a detective_ ) and John’s best friend of the group said.  
  
“You should quit Oxford and go into the force. Stop listening to your parents or you’ll be miserable.” Sherlock decided to pour himself a cup of coffee. Any type of stimulant at the moment would have done, really.  
  
Everyone looked dumbfounded until John’s best mate spoke again, “You’re doing that thing John says you do. You deduce people.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he took a long drink of coffee.  
  
“That’s a pretty neat thing.” The short brunette girl spoke up. Molly, she had introduced herself numerous times. She was fairly interesting because she wanted to be a forensic pathologist.

“Why don’t you sit down and have something to eat? We made plenty. Then you can do whatever you need to do,” John offered but Sherlock didn’t feel like eating at the moment. There were far more interesting things going on in his head.  
  
“No, I have things to do.”  
  
“Why did you come here then?”  
  
Why did he go to see John? He couldn’t figure out why he automatically went to John’s and not his own flat. “You texted me, I thought you had more information.”  
  
Everyone was looking at him skeptically.  
  
“You could have texted back.” John stood up from the table. “Let me show you the door.”  
  
“John, if you wanted to have a word with me privately you could just say. Your friends may not be geniuses but surely they can’t be that dull. They’re going to badger you endlessly about what you spoke to me in private about.”  
  
“No, just really wanted to show you the door.”  
  
Sherlock followed John, with his coffee in hand.  
  
“I told you I didn’t want you around when you’re high or withdrawing,” John scolded in a low voice as they reached the front door.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“I’m not an idiot. You need to go home, rest, and recuperate before going out and looking for a possible murderer! You’re probably just making this up out of boredom or something.”  
  
Sherlock huffed in annoyance, “This is out of Henry’s character.”  
  
“Maybe someone is sending you a wake-up sign.” John clenched his jaw. Sherlock quickly deduced John, just to make sure that it wasn’t him. That would have been very fascinating though. “No, not me.”  
  
“Obviously not, you were home studying last night. You have a test coming up on Monday that you’re worried about.”  
  
“Yeah, some of us have to worry about those things.”  
  
“You’d never commit a murder either unless if it was the ethical thing to do, like saving your own life or someone else’s.”  
  
“Go home, Sherlock.”  
  
“I’m going back to Victor and Henry’s. I should have searched his room first. I don’t know what I was thinking.”  
  
“You obviously weren’t thinking,” John sniped.  
  
Sherlock knew John was angry with him about using but he couldn’t focus on that at the moment.  
  
“Your friend just died, Sherlock, are you all right?”  
  
“He was not my friend. I’m excellent. I’ll be off now.” Sherlock shoved his mug of coffee into John’s hands then took of back to Victor’s.  
  
When he arrived there Victor was out so he was able to search the flat without question or interruption. Sherlock found nothing that would link Henry to any type of unsavory business. He took his laptop back to his own flat to look through it there but that part of the investigation led to another dead end. Henry was as normal and boring as he appeared to be. His computer contained nothing outside of what the average twenty-something would be looking at. Even the porn he had viewed was plain and boring. He may tell John that he was boring sometimes but certainly not as boring as Henry. Surely he had some deep dark secret somewhere but it was not in his flat or on his laptop.  
  
Sherlock needed to get into the mortuary. It would be impossible to gather anything from the club as it would have been cleaned and another weekend night was rolling in, meaning more traffic. The body was the only viable option left to investigate, other than questioning friends and family _(I doubt that will bring me anything_ ).

He had broken into the mortuary twice before in Oxford to inspect a body so he knew there was not much too it. They really should have upped the security a bit because the third time around was just as easy. Sherlock made his way into the main part of the mortuary and was caught off guard when he heard someone humming in an obnoxious high-pitched tone on the other side of the door.  
  
Then there was the terrible off pitch singing, “Want you to make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world…like I’m the only one that you’ll ever love.” The horrid signing was coming from John’s flatmate, Molly.  
  
Molly was attracted to Sherlock, not enough to potentially ruin her relationship with John but enough for Sherlock to take advantage of ( _not that there’s a thing to ruin but people think that way_ ). This had the potential of being a very good thing. Molly was doing something wrong here as well. There was no way that she would be allowed here at nine at night.  
  
Sherlock grinned as he opened the door with a flourish and Molly dropped a sponge, at the same time letting out an ear-piercing scream. “Do calm down, Molly.”  
  
“Sh- Sherlock.” She held her hand over her heart. “Oh, you scared me near to death.”  
  
“Hardly. What are you doing here?” He looked over her. “You came here to clean? That’s strange? Were you going to open up one of the bodies then resew it? I don’t believe assistants can do that. You’re just supposed to file, aren’t you?”  
  
“I – what are you doing here?”  
  
“Obvious, isn’t it? You were there this morning when I came to see John.”  
  
“You came to see your mate’s body?”  
  
“Not my mate.”  
  
Molly scrunched her lips together as if she sucked on a lemon, “You’re really investigating this?”  
  
“Of course, as I told John, Henry did not use drugs.”  
  
“They haven’t done the autopsy yet.”  
  
“I don’t have to cut into the body. I just need to look at it. When they do the autopsy, I’ll be able to find out the drugs that were used then. I’d also like to get my hands on the witness statements.”  
  
“John thinks you’ve gone round the twist.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. “Or thinks that this is your way of coping with a death of a friend.”  
  
Sherlock moved to the lockers and began to look for ‘Knight, Henry’. “John does not understand why I believe that there is something off about Henry’s untimely death. I am not grieving. I would need to be able to feel for that to happen.”

“You don’t have a heart, then?”  
  
“I’ve been readily informed that I don’t have one.”  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“I believe I’m a highly functioning sociopath.”  
  
Molly looked unconvinced but whatever she was going to follow up with was lost as Sherlock opened the door and pulled the gurney out.  
  
“We really shouldn’t be here.”  
  
“You can leave.”  
  
“No, I’m going to make sure you don’t ruin anything.” She crossed her arms defensively.  
  
“Very well then, just please stay quiet so I can think.”  
  
Molly chewed on her lip and took a seat on a stool within view of the body and Sherlock.  
  
He unzipped the bag and began to examine the body. There were no defensive markings. There was a puncture wound but it was conductive with what you would see with someone who was not used to using intravenous drugs. There was nothing strange on the body at all.  
  
“Where are his belongings?” He looked up at Molly.

  
“Sherlock, I - ”  
  
“I can find them, it’d just be faster if you retrieved them for me.”  
  
She hesitated for a few minutes before getting up to find Henry’s belongings. Sherlock finished his quick examination then closed the bag and shut the door before going to where Molly was standing with the clear bag of Henry’s things. Again Sherlock was unable to gather any important information from his clothes, phone, and wallet.  
  
“So you think it’s just an overdose then?”  
  
“I don’t have enough information. I may never, unless something strange comes back in blood results or witness statements.” Sherlock threw the wallet back into the bag with more force than needed.  
  
“It’s okay to be sad about your friend.”  
  
“He was not my friend. I don’t have friends.”  
  
“John’s your friend.”  
  
“John is my… we are not friends.”  
  
“Hmmm, sure.” She gathered the contents of the bag.  
  
“I’m off then, more important things to see to.”

* * *

John was sitting in the living room, studying the nervous system with Mike and Sarah when Molly interrupted, “Sherlock was at the morgue.”  
  
“You were there? You’re going to get in trouble, you know,” Sarah reminded her like every other time Molly went off to nose around her work after hours.  
  
John however was stuck that Sherlock was there, “It was for Henry?”  
  
“Yep, he was doing some investigating. Didn’t find a thing.”  
  
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, “He’s just looking for something to stimulate him probably.”  
  
“He’s certainly something to watch,” Molly commented.  
  
“When he’s working on something he’s interested in he’s consuming.” John loved watching Sherlock at work, wwhether it was reading or making notes or working on some investigation. He would get this look on his face that what was in front of him was the most interesting and important thing on the planet. He looked at John like that sometimes when he was deducing him. It gave John this fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that he mostly tried to ignore.  
  
“Aww, John’s in love.”  
  
“Bugger off, I am not in love.” He shut his notebook and took out his phone.

> **You broke into the morgue?**

“You say that as you text him.”  
  
“I would never date Sherlock, okay? I don’t like Sherlock romantically.”  
  
“Is it the drugs?” Sarah asked. She was the most concerned when Sherlock had showed up in the morning looking like he had been out partying all night. There was also little left to the imagination with the conversation that they had.  
  
“It’s not just the drugs.”  
  
“What else is wrong with him?”  
  
John rubbed the back of his back, “He’s just not someone I’d date. What the bloody hell happened, anyway? You all hated him before.”  
  
“We didn’t hate him, we just weren’t sure about him,” Mike corrected.  
  
“What changed our minds was how bloody miserable you were when you weren’t around him for that week or whatever,” Molly said before going towards the kitchen.  
  
“I – I was not miserable.”  
  
“You were” Sarah said with a laugh as she started to clean up her things. “Why don’t you go out with him tonight?”  
  
“Because I did my mandatory outing this week already, thank you.”

> **Oh please, your flatmate was there as well.  
>  -SH**
> 
> **  
> What are you up to now?**

“Go help Sherlock with the case.” Mike tilted his head as John stood up.  
  
“No. Plus he’s probably out partying now.” John shook his head. He felt like he was in some alternate reality. There was no way his friends would want him to date Sherlock. He was fairly sure they hated him not too long ago and now that they knew about the drugs he thought they would never allow him in the flat.  
  
Molly came back into the living room with a glass of water, “I think he was still investigating with the way he was talking.”  
  
“It’s really cool he does his own investigations.” Mike checked his phone. “Oh, Anna wants to meet for a beer. I’m going to the pub.”  
  
“Have fun, mate.” John winked.  
  
“It’s a beer.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Just like you and Sherlock hanging out is just mate stuff.”  
  
“Sod off.” John looked at his phone again as it vibrated after Mike left to get ready.

> **I’m coming over. I was trying to piece his last moments together but I can’t get anywhere. Body, home, witness statements give me nothing.  
>  -SH**

> **You’re not high, are you?**

“What are you two talking about?” Molly said in a sing-song type of voice.  
  
“Nothing, just stuff about Henry.”  
  
“You don’t think it’s weird that Sherlock apparently hates everyone but actively tries to spend time with you?” Sarah questioned him.  
  
“I got over trying to figure that out the other week. I’m just going to accept it. And it does not mean that we should date.”

“We just want you to get over Bill.” Molly pouted. “This is the first time you’ve been happy since he left.”  
  
“I know.” John offered her a smile. “But I’m happy how things are with Sherlock.” Other than him using drugs but what more could he do?  
  
“All right, if you say so.”

> **Of course not. You made your rules clear.  
>  -SH**

> **Ok, come on.**

“He’s coming over.” John tried not to look either of the girls in the eye because he knew the type of looks they were giving him.  
  
“Let’s watch a film.”  
  
“I doubt he’ll want to sit here and watch a film with you guys, no offense but I think I’m about to listen to him obsess over this.”  
  
“We’ll be here having food and watching a film. You’re welcome to join.” Molly sprawled out on the settee.  
  
“I’ll let him know.”  
  
Of course, Sherlock was not interested in a film, “All of my evidence points to an accidental overdose but I still have some doubt.” Sherlock paced in front of John’s bed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
John frowned because Sherlock seemed distressed over it, “You know what they say about gut feelings?”

“John, there is no such thing as a gut feeling. I have doubt because Henry does not use and the very few times I have ever seen him do so was cocaine through nasal inhalation. It’s a strange and sudden jump, which is very much out of Henry’s boring character. He did not take risks.”  
  
“Have you eaten or slept at all recently?” John changed the subject.  
  
“There are more important things.”  
  
“You told me you exasperated all of your ways to get information until you can see the blood tests.”  
  
Sherlock nodded silently.  
  
“Eat and have a kip, okay? So you don’t pass out. You don’t even need to sleep for a full eight hours.”  
  
“Fine.” He sounded reluctant but he let John lead him downstairs. Molly and Sarah were having Indian takeaway and watching Star Trek.  
  
“We have plenty, have some.”  
  
“Very well then.”  
  
Sherlock sat down on the loveseat next to John after making himself a small plate. He complained about how the film defied physics but mostly kept quiet as he shoved his face with food.  
  
“You could be Vulcan,” John said quietly after Sherlock finished eating.  
  
The other man huffed and stood up, “I can’t watch this anymore. I’ll be reading in your room.”  
  
John wasn’t about to let him rummage through his room so he followed him up, ignoring the suggestive looks the girls were throwing at him.  
  
When they got upstairs, Sherlock kicked the door shut and tackled John to the bed. “Will you be careful with the shoulder?” John snickered as he felt a dull ache.  
  
“Mmmhmm.” Sherlock worked at unbuttoning John’s shirt.  
  
“This doesn’t look much like reading.”  
  
“I am reading.”  
  
“Me, right.” John sighed as Sherlock kissed under his jaw before moving down his body.  
  
“I’m very good at reading you like this.”  
  
“Like this.” He groaned when Sherlock nipped at his collarbone. “You can’t read me normally?”  
  
“At times it’s difficult, you can be very surprising.”  
  
John felt himself grin as Sherlock undid his belt.

***

After that night Sherlock disappeared for a few days but showed up the day of Henry’s funeral on John’s doorstep. “You knew I was leaving now?” He really shouldn’t have been surprised.

“With the time it takes to get to the church and consideration for traffic, I deduced this would be about the time, give or take five minutes,” He said quickly.  
  
“Right, didn’t think you’d be attending.” John made his way to his car with Sherlock in on his heels.  
  
“I was told I must attend by Jim. As I said before, I do everything to stop him from annoying me everyday.”  
  
“Where’ve you been?”  
  
“I was finishing up my investigation and then I was doing things that I’m not supposed to do around you.”

He frowned. _Not your business, he’s alive and here now._ “Oh, ah, find anything new?”  
  
“No, the only conclusion I can draw is that it was an accidental overdose.”  
  
“But you feel differently.”  
  
“No, I don’t feel, John. It’s the only logical conclusion.”  
  
“Right, forgot… shouldn’t you be wearing a tie?” John asked before he got into his car.

“Shouldn’t you be driving a better car?”  
  
He rolled his eyes and buckled up, “You’re not going to insult Henry’s family, are you?”  
  
“I was going to avoid them, I’m sure they’re sick of hearing meaningless platitudes.”  
  
“Yeah, after awhile it doesn’t really mean much.”  
  
Sherlock studied John, “I’m glad you agree. After the grave, you’re welcome to join me on a stake-out. I’m going to be spending sometime at a café. Professor Verns believes that his wife is cheating on him with a student. The wife goes to this café every Thursday, I plan on trailing her from there.”  
  
“Sure, sounds like fun… odd thing to say before a funeral of a friend.”  
  
“He was barely your friend. You only saw him at club events and did not share personal stories with him, he was an acquaintance.”

“So by those rules, we’re friends,” John pointed out.  
  
Sherlock made some type of non-committal noise and then went into a spiel on some new finding DNA gathering.


	7. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock both end up in Paris for Christmas and New Year. John finds himself in denial. Sherlock finds himself getting some type of new relationship talk from John's Uncle.

The next few weeks passed and the end of term brought papers and exams that kept John up most nights. Sherlock would make his usual appearances and helped him study but mostly the man was MIA for the last week of school. John was too busy to care what Sherlock was putting up his nose or into his veins. John only ventured out once to make his appearance with The Club. Somehow, he was informed, he was doing rather well in the points game. He wasn’t sure how that was possible considering he had only shagged Sherlock since the term started.  
  
He really didn’t want to think about how he had only shagged Sherlock because that sounded too much like a relationship. But it wasn’t because he was free to go on dates and see whoever he wanted. He did go on two dates with one of Sarah’s friends. The second date was interrupted when Sherlock texted that he was tied up in the boot of a car in a car park and needed John’s help to get out. He never really explained to John how that happened but Sarah’s friend didn’t enjoy being left in the middle of dinner. But they were not dating. No matter what anyone said.  
  
When the last paper was handed in John met with his flatmates and a few of their mates at their favourite pub. He was determined not to get too pissed because he had a train to catch in the morning. Three full weeks of quiet time with his Uncle’s former partner Henrique. He couldn’t wait to see him for the first time in a couple of years. They kept up regular email correspondence but neither had been able to get time to see the other since Henrique had moved.  
  
A few hours after meeting up with his friends John returned home slightly buzzed to find Sherlock in his room reading. He obviously broke in but kindly locked the door behind him. “Hello there.”  
  
“John.” He acknowledged him but kept his eyes on the page.  
  
“What are you doing here?” He surveyed his room to make sure nothing was out of place.

“Finishing this book.” Sherlock glanced up from the page. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be in Paris for term break.”  
  
John shrugged as he started to undress, “Yeah, I’ve been planning on going – “  
  
“And since you don’t want to be home you thought going to see your Uncle’s former partner was a good idea. Probably so, families are worse around the holidays.”  
  
He nodded, remembering how terrible his Christmases had been when he was a kid. When Uncle Hamish wasn’t around at least. “What are you doing for break, then? Murdering your brother?” John learned that Mycroft was a difficult subject for Sherlock.  
  
“Possibly but I’d be doing that in Paris, as well. We’re going to see my grandmother and I’m being forced along.” Sherlock set the book on the bedside table when John straddled his thighs.  
  
“We’ll meet up, you can show me around when Henrique is working since you’ve been there before.”  
  
“Boring.”  
  
“Just shut up.” John scoffed before kissing Sherlock.  
  
“Is Harriet not joining you?”  
  
“I thought we stopped talking about siblings.” John popped open a button. “No, she is not, she is going to stay with Clara and her family for the holidays. Another whirlwind, tragic romance for her.”

“I see.”  
  
“Now can we stop chatting?”  
  
“Obviously.” Sherlock grabbed John around the waist and used his body weight to put John on his back so he was now on top. “I quite like this position.”

  
“You said that the first night we shagged. Come on, get out of those clothes.”

***

The next day John arrived in Paris in the early afternoon and Henrique was there waiting for him as he said he would. They went to lunch after dropping his bag off at the flat. Henrique lived in the 7th Arrondissement, in a cozy flat on a narrow street. He worked in Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital, the best teaching hospital in the city. In his emails he was always trying to persuade John to come there after school.  
  
“I like your new glasses,” John said to break the awkward silence. John felt they were stealthily avoiding the topics of Uncle Hamish and John’s family. They talked about everything else in emails all the time so it was bound to come up soon.  
  
“With the grey hair, they make me look very sophisticated, no?” He grinned. “How is your shoulder?”  
  
 _The time is now apparently_ , “Fine.”  
  
“You should have pressed charges, John.”  
  
“It wouldn’t have been worth it.” John chewed on his lip. “It would have got in the way of school too.” He really just didn’t want anyone to know about what happened. He did a good job of hiding his family life growing up. He didn’t need to bring any more attention to that part of his life. He told everyone it was a rugby injury and they believed him. Unfortunately it really happened when John had gone home to see his mum after classes ended for the summer.

“Do you not need some closure?”  
  
“I had it when he threw me down the stairs.” John clenched his jaw. “I probably had it long before that.”  
  
Henrique frowned before taking a sip of his coffee.  
  
“Can we talk about something not so – “  
  
“Do you ever talk about these things? What about Harriet?”  
  
John rubbed his forehead, “I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”  
  
“Saying it three times does not make it true.”  
  
“I’m okay, Henrique. I really am in a good place.” He really was serious. John was happy with his friends and how school was going.  
  
“Are you seeing anyone?”

John felt himself get immediately defensive. He was sick of his friends and people in The Club constantly badgering him about how he and Sherlock were dating. “I’m not seeing anyone.”  
  
“Oh, you sound like a teenager who is hiding a significant romance. Do tell, John, I don’t get out nearly as much as I used to.”

He laughed, “Uncle Hamish would want you to go out, you know?”  
  
“I know but I’m far too busy for that.” He smiled at John. “Now tell, who is this person.”

“There is no person.”  
  
“You deserve much better than that Bill.” Henrique said the name with a face as if he just drank sour milk.  
  
“I – I know.”  
  
“Do you? You did not have the best role models for relationships growing up.”  
  
“I had you and Uncle Hamish, I know the level of dysfunction my parents have is not good.”  
  
He smiled fondly.

  
***

The next day Henrique brought John to all of the tourist spots they could possibly fit into one day. John had to fill most of the next few days alone, Henrique was working and Sherlock not going to be in town until Thursday, only two days before Christmas. John didn’t mind, he went Christmas and souvenir shopping and read at cafés. At night he’d get dinner with Henrique and then spend the rest of it watching shite telly. It was extremely relaxing but come Thursday he was ready to interact with someone other than Henrique, someone who could speak English.

> **I’m coming into the city. Meet me at 4 Rue de La Montagne Sainte-  
>  Geneviéve in an hour.  
>  -SH**
> 
> **Why, what’s there?**
> 
> **Where’s your sense of adventure?  
>  -SH**
> 
> **Is this really Sherlock I’m texting. He wouldn’t use a phrase like that.**
> 
> **Don’t be dull.  
>  -SH**
> 
> **I’ll see you soon.**

John arrived outside of, what looked like a police station, to find Sherlock smoking a cigarette. He did his best to not give into the big grin that threatened to spread across his face when he saw the other man because it felt like forever since he last seen him. He had the biggest urge to pull him close and kiss him as he got closer.   
  
_Not a couple. We don’t do PDA. You do not miss him. It hasn’t even been a week. You do not like Sherlock Holmes like that, you idiot. Christ, you even sound like him now.  
  
_ “You _could_ walk slower.” Sherlock stubbed out his cigarette.  
  
“Why are we meeting here? Trying to get in with the Paris police force?”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “No, it’s a museum. Musee de la Prefecture de Police.A crime museum. You said you wanted me to take you to tourist spots. I have here and the catacombs covered for today.”  
  
John nudged towards the door, “Only you.”  
  
“Apparently they both attract many tourists.” Sherlock crossed his arms and took the steps up the door.

Sherlock was like a kid in a candy shop at the museum. He kept pointing things out wit more enthusiasm than John had ever seen put into pretty much anything.   
  
“Look, the first mugshot camera!”   
  
“Oh, a guillotine, this was used in the Revolution!”  
  
“This man chopped of his own hand to throw the police off the case!”

John was more amused over Sherlock than he was at anything in the museum. “There’s a medical one like this in London. We should go when we’re back in England,” he said as they went back out into the streets.  
  
“Sure, where to now?”  
  
“Catacombs.”  
  
The rest of their afternoon was spent trudging through the Paris underground. There was no guide though. Sherlock did the tour by himself and John followed along without very little protest. It was fun and exciting. They had to outrun a tour guide and group who they bumped into, that was the best part of the trip. The worst part was John tripping and falling in a puddle of who knows what.  
  
“We should get you showered.” Sherlock pushed him into the bathroom. “You smell horrifying.”

“My Uncle – “  
  
“Will not be home for hours. You said so earlier.” He peeled off John’s jumper and it fell to the floor with a wet splat.  
  
“We can’t have sex here.” John laughed as his trousers and pants were stripped off of him as well and he kicked those and his trainers off.  
  
“I’m rather certain that we can.” Sherlock’s clothes joined John’s on the floor after he turned on the shower.

“I can’t believe that this is going to happen.”  
  
“Why?” Sherlock moved away from him and towards the sink.  
  
“Sex. Here. Wrong. It’s like sex at my parents house.” He watched the other man rummage through cabinets until he pulled out a condom. “It’s wrong.”  
  
“No talk of that now.” Sherlock practically corralled John into the shower. “He’s not home, anyway.”  
  
The spray was nice and hot, making up for how bloody cold John was the entire way home. Sherlock pressed his long body to John’s back and John hummed at the contact. He felt himself completely relax at all the warmth. “You know, you should just fuck me already.”  
  
Sherlock’s body stiffened.  
  
“Too vulgar? I thought you enjoyed vulgarity at certain times.”  John pressed his lips together but groaned after Sherlock wrapped his hand around his cock.  
  
“No, I’m just confused.” 

“How? You’re constantly taking control, so why not when it comes to this?”  
  
“Most of the men I shag don’t bottom. I won’t fuck you, even if I want to.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You attach a lot of sentiment to being penetrated, yourself. You wouldn’t be asking me to do so if you didn’t feel sentimental attachment to me. I don’t want you to confuse our relationship.”  
  
 _Sherlock’s right. Of course, he’s right. He’s Sherlock. But what is our relationship, really?_   
  
John wasn’t exactly sure anymore if their relationship was normal friends with benefits. He wasn’t even sure it would constitute as a normal romantic relationship. It certainly wasn’t a normal friendship. They were together constantly… well, that was as long as Sherlock wasn’t high, which seemed to be happening far less as the weeks had worn on into the semester. They worked on cases for Sherlock, who seemed to have a growing little business in Oxford. John was shocked at all the infidelity and petty theft that was occurring. When not on a case they would go to John’s, have dinner, read, write papers, and eventually have some form of sex (mostly hands and mouth, little penetration). Sherlock would sometimes sleep over or leave, depending on the night. They rarely talked about anything outside of schoolwork, crimes, or The Club.  
  
What the hell kind of relationship is this?  
  
“So I will not fuck you and you will understand when the chemicals in your body right themselves again.”  
  
“I’m so glad one of us has a brain.” He moaned as Sherlock bit and licked at his neck.

* * *

Sherlock watched as John flipped through the channels twenty times on the telly, finally settling on some travel program that seemed utterly boring.   
  
“We should order dinner,” John proclaimed, reaching for his phone.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “We ate – “  
  
“A crêpe six hours ago, it’s time for dinner now.”  
  
The door to the flat opened and John sat up straight, “Henrique?” he called out and an older man stepped into the living room. “I thought you were going to be working until nine.”  
  
“I got to leave a bit early. Who is this?”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.” He stood up. “You must be John’s Uncle’s former partner, Henrique. You were successful in two surgeries today. You’re surprised I’m here. John didn’t tell you about me, interesting.” Sherlock was a little thrown that John had not informed his Uncle’s former partner about their relationship. From what he understood they had a close relationship.  
  
“Ha, yes. How did you know?”  
  
Sherlock was about to describe how he came to the conclusion but John interrupted, “He does this thing. Deducing. He looks at you and sees everything.”  
  
“Ah, I see.”  
  
“He’s my friend. He has family here. We were out sightseeing earlier,” John explained quickly.  
  
“Oh, it is very nice to meet you.” Henrique smiled at Sherlock.  “Have you had dinner yet? I’ll cook something for us.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” John protested.  
  
“No, I insist.” Henrique waved for them to follow him into the kitchen.  
  
Sherlock didn’t feel like getting to know this man but he did not want to go back to his grandmother’s. He decided that he was going to stay and attempt to get some interesting information about surgeries he had performed. Surgery talk transformed into talk about Sherlock’s cases. It was all fairly interesting until Henrique forced John to go to the shop across the street because he did not have any eggs. It was obvious that Henrique just wanted to speak to Sherlock and just happened to be making a dish that needed eggs when there were plenty that do not. John didn’t catch on to this and left Sherlock in the kitchen to retrieve the eggs.  
  
“John and I are not dating,” Sherlock said as soon as he was sure the other man was out of earshot. “I know that’s why you sent him away. You’re the only one in the family that would have some type of warning chat with a significant other.”  
  
“I may not be a genius,” Henrique said in French. “But I do notice things. For instance, that love bite on John’s neck that was not there when I left this morning. Your and John’s hair was wet when I came in, I only have one shower. Not to mention I have never seen him so happy. He lit up when you were talking about your investigating.”  
  
“John and I have an agreement,” Sherlock answered back in the other man’s native tongue.  
  
“What type of agreement?”  
  
“We have sex, he assists me on cases, and I help him deal with members of The Club. It is nothing more.”  
  
“Do you also spend a lot of time with him doing nothing? Do you make each other laugh?”  
  
Sherlock went to speak but was interrupted.  
  
“Ah, of course. You do know that sounds quite like you are dating.”  
  
“We are not.”  Sherlock did not date. It was too messy and complicated and things with John were not so.  
  
“Do you see how he looks at you? Do you know how you look at him? You’re completely captivated when he speaks. You are completely in love. If you don’t know this then I want to tell you to be careful. John has had enough hurt in his life up to this point, he does not need any more.”  
  
Sherlock scratched his head, “I do not plan on hurting John but we are not dating.”  
  
“I can see why he likes you. You’re emotionally closed off. Everyone in his life has let him down, he knows that you’re going to stay far away from trying to even become close enough to hurt.” Henrique stirred the sauce. “Maybe if you both opened up to each other, you would see that feelings are not so bad. Relationships can be great things.”  
  
“If you are so interested in relationships then why won’t you tell John about your new partner?” The whole thing was obvious from the aftershave in the cabinet to the remote control in the living room. John really was unobservant.  
  
“At least your deducing is an interesting defense mechanism.” Henrique waved his spoon around. “I will tell John tomorrow because I plan on having Derrick over for dinner the day after Christmas.”  
  
“How delightful,” he said in the most bored tone he could muster.  
  
“I’m just saying – “  
  
“Thank you very much but there is nothing going on with John and I that you need to concern yourself with.”  
  
Sure his relationship with John was far different than anything he had ever experienced with anyone else but that did not mean a thing. Yes, John did not bore him. John was not an idiot. John was kind to him and did not talk about him behind his back unlike other people whom he had considered friends in the past. John helped him think. John trigged thoughts in his brain when he was stuck. But Sherlock did not date people. He did not have feelings. Sometimes he could see John get that look in his eye that he wanted something more but he always made sure to make it go away because things were going perfectly how they were.   
  
“One day you’ll see.” The older man nodded. “Before or after that day, do not hurt John. He doesn’t deserve it.”  
  
“As I said, and I hate repeating myself, I have absolutely no intention of hurting John.”  
  
“I’ll change the subject back to something you enjoy now.”  
  
Sherlock listened to Henrique talk about gruesome and amazingly interesting tales about working in the A&E. John came back five minutes later and the rest of the night was not completely terrible as his one-on-one conversation with Henrique.  
  
He convinced John to let him stay the night but left before he woke up the next morning in order to find a way to make it through the upcoming days with his family.

***

“I can’t wait to return to England.” Sherlock stretched out on his back in John’s bed. He escaped his family’s clutches for New Year, even though Mummy was adamant about _family time_. Christmas Eve and Christmas had been terrible enough. He couldn’t take any more time with them, especially father and Mycroft.   
  
He had stayed away from John for the last few days due to the rules that had been set but decided to spend the last few days with him before returning to Oxford.  
  
“To get away from your family? You must have suffered this past week.” John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder.  
  
“They are intolerable.” Mycroft had spent Christmas morning interrogating Sherlock about his current drug habits. His position in the government was giving far too much of an ego, as if he didn’t have a large enough one before.  
  
John made a noise, “I don’t think you want to get into a competition of whose family is more intolerable.”  
  
Sherlock was not sure what to say to that. Outside of a few deductions Sherlock had laid out for John they had never talked about John’s past.  
  
“Never mind that.” He kissed Sherlock’s sternum. “We should get out of bed and go to the party Henrique invited us to.”  
  
“Must we?”  
  
“I told him I would join him and Derrick. You don’t have to but I do.”  
  
Sherlock reached over for his phone, “I’ll come with.”  
  
“Ok but don’t insult Henrique’s friends.”  
  
Sherlock’s phone chimed in that moment with a text message.

> **Alistair died in a car accident.  
>  -Victor**

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, “There’s been another murder. I have to return to England right away.”  
  
“You don’t have to fake a murder to get out of going with me.” John chuckled as he sat up.  
  
“Alistair has died in a car crash. That’s two members John, I believe we may have a serial killer.”  
  
“Or some unfortunate luck. That’s terrible, though.” He ran a hand through his hair as Sherlock jumped out of bed to get dressed.  
  
“I’m getting on the first train home. I’ll see you when you return to Oxford. This is exciting!”  
  
“Your friends – “  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you they are not my friends?’  
  
“Right, right. Go ahead.”  
  
Sherlock paused and studied John, “Are you upset with me?”  
  
“No, of course not. It is just weird seeing you getting excited over people know dying.”  
  
“They’re being murdered!”  
  
“You found nothing – “  
  
“It doesn’t mean that there’s something, John.”  
  
The other man rolled his eyes as he gathered some clean clothes, “Okay. I’ll see you later. I need a shower before I go out. Happy – “  
  
Sherlock was out the door before John could finish his sentence. He was going to prove he was right about Henry and now Alistair.


	8. Peanut Allergy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's sick of having people tell him that he's dating Sherlock. Later there's another death and this time John helps Sherlock look into it.

“You know, Uncle Hank told me that you’re dating some lanky bloke.”  
  
“We’re not dating, Harry.” John shook his head. Talking to his sister on the phone seemed like a chore most days. “You know Henrique is seeing someone?”  
  
“Yeah, he told me but who cares, you’re seeing someone. I thought you swore men off after Bill.”  
  
“I am not seeing anyone.” He literally had not _seen_ Sherlock since he left Paris in a rush, He had been back in Oxford for well over a week and there was no sign of him. He had even gone to Alistair’s funeral and out with The Club and Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Alistair’s death wasn’t murder. His car’s brakes were faulty. Sherlock was most likely driving himself completely barmy with trying to find any evidence of murder.  
  
“Sure but you spent days with this tall handsome bloke in Paris.”  
  
“We’re not together, Harry. Can you please stop?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
John let out a long breath, “So how is Clara?”  
  
“Brilliant. She’s amazing, John.”  
  
He had heard that before with Liz, Kim, Samantha, and Jade.  
  
“We just connect, you know?”  
  
“That’s – great, Harry, yeah.” He paused because he hated bringing up the next topic. “How’s funds?”  
  
“I’m fine, Johnny. I don’t need anything, I swear.” She usually said something horrible about the inheritance and how John didn’t deserve it all when she was drunk, so he was never too sure how she really felt about the whole thing. Hamish seemed to think that Harry didn’t deserve it at all with her behaviour growing up. John gave her cash here and there but always wondered how much of it went to alcohol. “This job at the gallery is amazing, it’s all I ever wanted. It pays well, too.”  
  
“Good, it sounds like things are going really good.”  
  
“They are. So if you’re not dating this tall mystery man then how is everything else?”  
  
“Great, really. I did really well last semester and I don’t hate The Club as much as I thought I would.”  
  
“I still can’t believe you’re in that thing.”  
  
“I don’t do much with it. I sit through a posh dinner every month and survive a night out at some club once a week. It’s not too bad.”  
  
“This guy, Sherlock I think Uncle Hank called him, is he in it?”  
  
“Yes, Sherlock is in it but - ”  
  
“Bet that it makes things easy.”  
  
“Harry, honestly.” He needed to stop hanging out with Sherlock because this was getting old.

She laughed, “I have to go but don’t be a stranger. Next time you’re in London, let me know. I really want to introduce you to Clara.”  
  
“I will. Maybe over the next break.”  
  
“All right, little brother, talk to you soon.”  
  
John said his goodbyes before hanging up and getting back to working on his studying. He was interrupted by Greg barging into his room demanding him to get ready in order to join him on some double date, “Look she wouldn’t go out with me unless if her friend got to date you.”  
  
“Now that’s a solid relationship base,” John muttered as he closed his book.  
  
“She just needs to give me a chance. So come on, close those books, and come with me!”  
  
“Greg, I can’t.”  
  
“You’re not seriously seeing anyone, come on.” Greg studied him. “Unless if you finally came to terms with it and are officially with Sherlock.”  
  
“No. No. No, no, no. No! Why does everyone think we’re a couple. We’re not a bloody couple. Even my sister who has never met him thinks that we’re dating.”  
  
“Wow, did something happen when you met up in Paris?”  
  
“No, nothing has happened. Everyone is just driving me out of my mind.”  
  
“Maybe there is something there if you’re so worked up over it.” He tilted his head.  
  
“There is nothing there. We’re just friends.”  
  
“Who shag each other constantly?”  
  
“We – not – it’s – not constantly. It’s like – it’s stress relief – boredom relief. I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks. If we were dating I’d be worried.” He was worried but as a friend. “I would have texted him a million times.” John only sent about eighty. “Sherlock is nothing but a good shag.” John stood up. “I’ll go on this date.” Anything to get his friends off his back and to possibly ease his own mind.  
  
His mate still did not look convinced, “Either way, I’m chuffed you have accepted the invitation. Kelly and Mary are already at the pub, come on.”  
  
“They’re already there?” John followed him out of his room. “What if I said no?”  
  
“Then I would have went and Kelly would have probably ignored me.”  
  
“Brilliant plan,” John scoffed.  
  
They made it to the pub about ten minutes later to find Mary and Kelly in a booth laughing over something that had happened in one of their classes. The night went surprisingly well. Mary was bright, studying law like Greg and Kelly, and funny. She was rather pretty too and the conversation flowed easily. It went so well John asked to go on a real date the next Friday.  
  
The entire night had also been free of any mention of a certain tall lanky mysterious arse, which hadn’t been the norm lately. Well, that was until he went home.  
  
“Sherlock’s in your room. If it’s possible I think he’s lost more weight. As his boyfriend, it is your job to feed him up, you know?” Sarah said, looking over the top of her laptop from the kitchen table.  
  
John didn’t answer because it wasn’t worth arguing with them anymore. He just went up stairs where Sherlock was pacing. “Something wrong?”  
  
“Wrong? No, everything is perfect.” Sherlock stopped pacing and stood in front of John. “I’m sober.”  
  
John did a quick visual assessment and nodded, “Yeah?”  
  
“I’m bored.”  
  
“Why’d you come here then?”  
  
“I was hoping you would take up some space.”  
  
“In your brain?” John smiled as Sherlock inched closer to him.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Happy to,” he said quietly when Sherlock stepped into his personal space.  
  
“You smell like cider.” Sherlock nosed down his neck. “And perfume. Cheap. Another student? Female, with the scent and this dyed blonde hair on your jacket from when she hugged you.” He moved up to his lips to kiss him. “Taste like lager. She didn’t kiss you. You were on a date in a pub. Probably the one a five minute walk from here I’d guess. It wasn’t planned, Lestrade probably convinced you to go at the last minute judging by the state of your books.”  
  
“Well done.”  
  
“Didn’t end well?”  
  
“My end game wasn’t to shag her.”  
  
“What was your _end game_ then?” Sherlock slipped off John’s jacket.  
  
“It was another date.”

“And you received what you wanted?”  
  
“Yes.” John’s shirt was slipped up and over his head.  
  
Sherlock just ‘hmmed’ as a response before pushing John back towards his bed. John couldn’t tell how Sherlock was feeling about it because he could never really tell how Sherlock was feeling unless he was bored or excited.  
  
“Jealous?”  
  
“Of what exactly?” He cocked an eyebrow as he worked on John’s belt. “You entering into a normal, boring relationship with a normal, boring woman?”  
  
“If I didn’t know any better I would say that sounds like jealousy,” he teased.  
  
“But you do know me enough to know that I would never be jealous of you or anything, really.”  
  
“You‘d be jealous of someone smarter.”  
  
“Who’s smarter?”  
  
John laughed as Sherlock undressed, “Where have you been these last – almost two weeks?”  
  
“Since Paris? I’ve been looking into some cases.”  
  
“Oh, ignoring my text messages while you were at it?” John hated how he sounded jealous now. He really wasn’t. Why would he ever be jealous of Sherlock solving cases, that didn’t make sense? Right?  
  
“Busy, John. I was not blatantly ignoring you.”  
  
“I know you weren’t. I was just worried something had happened.”  
  
“I was just working.” He climbed back on top of John. 

 

* * *

Sherlock had spent a week and a half attempting to prove his theory of murder but found nothing but dead ends.  He did interviews, stole reports, looked at the body, and got the chance to look at the car. There was absolutely nothing that pointed to foul play. After Sherlock went back to the flat and looked into Henry and Alistair’s connections. Again, nothing turned up.  
  
When he finally gave into the evidence that both the cases were simply accidents he found himself constantly thinking about John. That was no good because he was not dating John. Yes, he was attracted to John and got on well with John but relationships were no good, too many complications. It was better to keep the other man at arms length. Letting him closer would only make things worse. Instead of killing the boredom and the swirling thoughts with John he turned to the only true reliable source of clarity. He may have misjudged one day and ended up in the hospital.  
  
Of course, Mycroft was there when he woke up. There were threats to send him to rehab but Sherlock could see they were hollow. Mycroft would not want to upset Mummy with all this nor would he want to interrupt Sherlock’s pursuit of an education.  
  
When he got out of the hospital he decided to go see John because his body needed a break from the boredom was eating away at him and he didn’t feel like indulging in drugs for the time being - mostly because he was out and didn’t feel like interacting with the stupidity he was going to encounter to retrieve more. He also figured he had spent enough time away from him. John didn’t seem to notice that Sherlock was fresh out of the hospital but he did comment on how thin he seemed.  
  
“So, what happened with investigating Henry and Alistair?” John asked after coming back from retrieving some food.  
  
“Nothing.” Sherlock took a bite of the cold pizza he had been offered. It tasted disgusting but he was rather hungry and it was better than hospital food.  
  
“Sherlock, I know it’s weird that two people from The Club have died but it doesn’t mean it’s murder.”  
  
“I know that and the facts seem to prove that it was not murder. It’s the only conclusion that can be drawn.” But there was that doubt gnawing at the back of his brain. It did not sit right. Sherlock Holmes hated doubt but there was no concrete evidence to point to murder. If there is no evidence then it wasn’t possible.  
  
“You know, you’re wound pretty tight. Isn’t sex supposed to relax you?” John’s fingers scratched at the hair on the nape of Sherlock’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Are you positive you’re all right?”  
  
“I’m fine!” Sherlock snapped. _The man is infuriating at times, isn’t he?_  
  
John chuckled quietly, “Sure, you sound fine.”  
  
Sherlock shoved more pizza into his mouth and reached for the forensics book John had bought in Paris. It was obviously for him but John never gave it to him out right as a gift. Gifts were things that people in relationships got for one another.  
  
“Can I ask why you have bruising on the front of your hand that’s seen with an IV?” John grabbed Sherlock’s left hand, the one holding the crust of the pizza, and examined it.  
  
Sherlock ignored him.  
  
“Drug thing, right. You’re not sick or anything are you?”  
  
“Do I look sick?”  
  
“No, you look like Sherlock.”

“Excellent deduction.”  
  
“Okay. I – I just want you to know if anything - ”  
  
“John, do shut up, I’m reading.”  
  
He sighed, dropping Sherlock’s hand before getting under the blankets. “Any new cases?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head, “No, but I do hope something comes up soon.” John rolled over, throwing a leg over Sherlock’s. He tried to ignore how comfortable he felt to have John so close when they weren’t shagging.  
  
“You can stay… I’m just going to sleep.” He struggled with his pillow.  
  
Sherlock let his hand rest on John’s arm and continued reading.

***

A couple of weeks passed and Sherlock took up new infidelity, petty theft, and plagiarism cases. John joined him when he wasn’t busy working on his studies or going on dates with Mary. Mary. She was taking up far too much of John’s time, wasting it on dinner, films, and pubs when he could have been working with Sherlock. But John was traditional at heart. At least that was what he forced himself to want. Sherlock knew that but for some reason he hoped that John’s reckless streak would drive him away from a normal, boring relationship. Sadly it did not.  
  
Sherlock forced himself to The Club’s dinner the second weekend of February. “And you’re not with him every night.” Victor teased John as Sherlock walked into the room.  
  
John rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his wine.  
  
“Oh, there you are, love. We were trying to figure out where you were.” Victor patted the seat next to him.  
  
“Busy.”  
  
John smiled, “Catch that cat-napper then?” Sherlock had been investigating a mysterious disappearance of three cats.  
  
“Yes, it was a terribly boring case.”  
  
“You and your crime solving. You should quit school and start a detective agency.” Victor said with no sarcasm.  
  
Sherlock didn’t say anything. The night was going to be a long one and he hoped that John would not join everyone at a club or where ever else they were going because he was starting to feel like he needed something to get through the night. At least there was wine.  
  
“All right?” John looked at him critically after dinner was served.  
  
“Yes, why are you so worried about me lately?” Sherlock asked him quietly.  
  
“You haven’t been yourself recently.” Every time he had been around John the last few weeks the other man had badgered him about his health.  
  
“Oh, my God!” Sherlock snapped his head to the other end of the table to see Christopher Gregson collapsing to the floor. Sherlock and John moved to him at the same time. As soon as Sherlock looked at his flushed skin and heard his wheezing it was obvious the man was going into anaphylaxis.  
  
“Anaphylaxis. Where’s his epinephrine pen?” John checked his pockets. “He’s going into cardiac arrest. SOMEONE CALL 999! DON’T JUST BLOODY STAND THERE.”  
  
 _Oh. This part of John is fascinating.  
  
_ His hands worked fast, checking his pulse and opening his shirt. He wasn’t panicking. He was calm, calmer than Sherlock had ever seen. And that tone. That tone commanded people to listen and get things done. “Someone ask the rest of the diners for epinephrine pen.”  
  
“He’s deathly allergic to peanuts. He can’t be anywhere near them…” Sherlock connected to the possibility he was seeing the third murder right in front of his face. “Peanuts! They must have used peanut oil!”  
  
“Sherlock, not right now.” John put his ear to Christopher’s chest.  
  
He bit his lip from shouting out how this was foul play and soon to be the third murder but the culprit may have been in the room, he wasn’t sure.  
  
 _Focus. No, not on John working, on everything around us. Victor had gone to look for help. Jim was on the phone. Everyone else looked as though they were in shock. No one seemed to be taking any pride in to what was happening._  
  
“I can’t find any epinephrine,” Victor said as he joined the group once more.  
  
Sherlock pushed out of the crowd and inspected Christopher’s dish. It was just the same as the rest of The Club’s. It only made sense that the specialty-seasoned gourmet chips were deep fried with peanut oil. _Idiots._ Sherlock left the group behind and went straight to the kitchen.  
  
He walked through the chaos of waiters and chefs to the head chef, who was looking over a plate. “Did you receive special instructions of the tonight’s menu for The Centurion Club.”  
  
“Yes, no peanuts or peanut oil. What the bloody hell are you doing in my kitchen?”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes found the cooking oils, picked them up and smelled them both. “They’re both peanut oil.” Sherlock put the bottle down. “You may have just killed a man.”  
  
“Impossible – killed a man?”  
  
“You used the peanut oil, under the impression it was vegetable oil. Honest mistake and unless I can prove otherwise you’re going to be facing charges, no doubt with this lot.” Sherlock studied the man, clearly he had no doubt what he was using. “By the way you charge far too much for so-called gourmet chips.”  
  
“I –“  
  
“I’ll need to speak with your staff and the wait staff as well.”  
  
“Are you police?”  
  
“No, but you’ll want me help if you do not want to face charges.”  
  
“Ah, very well then.”  
  
“Call a staff meeting as soon as dinner service is over.”  
  
The chef nodded and swallowed, “I killed someone.”  
  
He ignored the man and walked back through the restaurant, cataloguing the staff. There were twelve total staff members for the night. On the surface none of them looked like they had a hand in killing a man. One waitress was stealing money, the sous-chef and the pastry chef were sleeping with the head chef (neither knew about the other), and the headwaiter had a drinking problem but other than that he couldn’t see anything damning.  
  
Back in the private room Christopher was pronounced dead on arrival by the EMT as Sherlock entered. Everyone’s reactions were as Sherlock expected but John looked far more upset than he should have. He didn’t know Christopher well enough. Maybe he thought he could have saved him? _Foolish._  
  
The group was splitting up to leave for home or to continue drinking and eating somewhere else. Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and pulled him towards the exit after they both retrieved their coats. “You couldn’t have saved him. It would have been impossible. Even if you had the epinephrine it may have not worked.”  
  
“I - ”  
  
“You are not going to save everyone, John. It’s impossible but we may be able to stop the next murder.”  
  
“Three’s not a coincidence.”  
  
“There are no coincidences. We need to be back here in three hours, we’re going to interview the staff.”  
  
“Where are we going now?”  
  
“Back to mine.” Sherlock turned down a street. “We need to go through everyone of their connections.”  
  
“Okay.” John nodded and Sherlock was grateful he didn’t have to do any convincing. His mind was racing with all the possibilities.


	9. Not the Smartest Thing You’ve Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John (mostly Sherlock) look into the murders. Later John makes a choice for both of them.

They made it back to Sherlock’s flat ten minutes after leaving the restaurant. Sherlock immediately shucked off his coat and began pacing once he entered.  
  
“This is cozier than I thought. For some reason I thought you’d have a modern looking flat with all clean lines and white and black but it’s almost Victorian.” John commented. “Why is this my first time here?”  
  
No one came to Sherlock’s flat, it was his sanctuary.  
  
“In a tip.” John laughed.  
  
Sherlock waved his hand, “These three men were involved in something or seen as a threat in someway.”  
  
“If Henry weren’t apart of this I’d say they’re all a bunch of twats, so someone is killing them off. I got a few potential victims.”  
  
“Honestly John, if I did not know you so well I would say that it was you committing the crimes. They’re clearly well thought out and committed against people you don’t like.”  
  
John grinned and Sherlock could feel the corners of his mouth pulling into one as well but he fought it.  “Mostly, like I said I like Henry.”  
  
“Liked.” Sherlock corrected before getting back on to the right track. “Maybe it has something to do with the points game. They were all doing well, someone who is far too competitive could be taking exception.”  
  
“Do you know where they were?”  
  
“No, but I heard Jim saying something about the ones who were doing well.”  
  
John nodded.  
  
“Neither of us should be winning or near the top, we should be safe if that’s it.”  
  
“That’s… comforting.” John sat on the couch.  
  
“It could be something that I haven’t been able to dig up. Maybe the lot of them did do something to someone on campus or maybe there is someone on campus who wants to be apart of The Club but is unable to be so he or she is killing off members.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
“What else do they have in common?” Sherlock paced. “The Club, the same group of friends, surely they’ve slept with some of the same people, and they’ve slept with me.”  
  
“You’ve slept with them?” John questioned.  
  
“Are you honestly surprised?”  
  
“No – I – “  
  
“I thought your random fits of jealousy would no longer show when you started dating Mary.”  
  
“Oh, who’s jealous now?”  
  
Sherlock spun around so his back was to John, “You’re ridiculous.” Sherlock knew they were at some point in their relationship where they were dancing around each other’s true feelings. Well, they were dancing around John’s feelings. Sherlock could tell the man had started to become far too aware of his feelings. Sherlock was doing just fine keeping his under control. He was positive if they continued not to talk about it they would be able to move past this inevitable phase and continue their agreement.  
  
“So are you.” The other man muttered.  
  
“Can we please focus!?!” He turned to face John again with a flourish.  
  
“Right, right, sorry. So maybe someone is jealous.”  
  
“I find the competiveness or jealousy over not being in The Club a more viable option. Also people who are angry with The Club for one reason or another. They have made many angry in the short time that I have been involved whether it be restaurant owners or feminist groups along with many others. We’ll start with The Club. We need to get access to the scoring that Jim stores on his computer. He’s out now, we’ll just pop by his flat.”  
  
“By pop by his flat you mean break into The General’s flat? The man’s going to know.”  
  
“He won’t know, I’ll be sure of it.”  
  
John stood up, “All right, let’s go.” He still looked a bit defeated.  
  
“Stop thinking about Christopher, you could have done nothing.”  
  
“It’s just… kind of like losing my first patient.”  
  
Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say to that.  
  
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be a lot better when we find the person who is killing off people involved in something I am. I’d also feel a lot better if I could get out of my bloody suit.”  
  
“You’ll survive, take the tie off and let’s get going. We only have so much time at Jim’s before we need to go back to the restaurant. I’ll grab a flash drive to load the information on to so we just be in and out.”  
  
Sherlock went to his room to find an extra drive then returned to find John taking off his button down. “Why are you getting undressed?”  
  
“I have a T-shirt on.”  
  
“Hurry up.” Sherlock swept out of the flat and John caught up to him halfway down the street.  
  
“Christ, Sherlock.” He panted a little.  
  
“You need to work out a bit more. If you want to be in shape for rugby next year, that is.”  
  
“I’m going to be too busy, won’t have time.”  
  
Sherlock ignored him because he didn’t want to engage in any small talk. The less of that they had, the better. Plus he was now on a case, he didn’t need anything unnecessary getting into his brain.  
  
When they arrived at Jim’s Sherlock easily picked the lock and entered the flat, “I assume this is what you thought my flat would look like.” He said after turning the light on in the living room.  
  
John nodded. It was sparsely decorated, no real personal touches, “Looks like a home of a murderer.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t disagree even though it sounded a bit off to say. Jim was probably capable of murder. Sherlock had seen him become explosively angry. He was very controlling and he was brilliant.  
  
 _He could have pulled off the murders but why? What could be his motive? Disrespect to the club?  
  
_ “Do you think he did it?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Not enough information.” Sherlock opened the laptop that sat on the desk in the corner and easily logged on. He had seen Jim’s password one morning when he had bothered him in the library. He was surprised Jim hadn’t changed it yet.  
  
Sherlock poked around and found the file for the competition. Sherlock easily fooled Jim enough into thinking that he and John were fully participating by the use of Photoshop and blurry photos. He knew that they both were in the middle of the pack. At the top were Joshua Anderson ( _how did that rat faced twat pull anyone)_ , Alistair Cohen ( _name crossed through it though_ ), Christopher Gregson, Nathan Grimshaw, Richard Smith, Henry Knight ( _name crossed through it as well_ ), and Nicholas Miller. All the men with within two or three points of one another, the next on the list was five away. Surely these men cared enough to brag so they would all know about how close they were.  
  
Sherlock copied the file, along with the rest of the club folder, on to his flash drive before taking a look around the flat. John had already been searching for anything out of the ordinary but there was almost nothing to indicate who lived there outside of a few pieces of mail, his laptop, textbooks, and clothes.  
  
“It’s weird,” John commented as Sherlock looked through his medicine cabinet.  
  
“It doesn’t mean he’s the one who killed them. A far too clean apartment is not motive for killing people that he oversees.”  
  
“I know, I just don’t have a good feeling about it.”  
  
“What have I said about gut feelings?”  
  
“I know.” John rolled his eyes and stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m just saying - ”  
  
“And I am saying that we need proof, John.”  
  
They stopped chatting and Sherlock went back to work, to find nothing of significance. Eventually they left the flat after Sherlock felt they had seen enough and went back to the restaurant.  
  
After midnight the head chef let the two men into the restaurant. No one had seen anything out of order the entire day. Three attended the University. No one seemed to care about the group, except one or two who had worked there a few years ago when the group had dismantled the dining area but management had changed since then and they also didn’t care enough to kill. No one knew any of the members personally. Sherlock couldn’t see any signs of lying, again in this case it was a dead end.  
  
“Another road to nowhere.” Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets as they walked back to his flat.  
  
“This person’s good.”  
  
“He or she has to make a mistake. There’s always a mistake. There’s always something I miss so let us hope that I haven’t overlooked their mistake.”  
  
“You will find it, you’re brilliant.”  
  
Sherlock never had anyone sound so confident in him. His parents offered encouragement as well as tutors and Mycroft when he was younger but there was always something else behind their kind words. Since becoming a teenager most just assumed that he was a freak or losing his mind and didn’t bother. But John was sure of him. Yes, there was a time where he doubted this theory but he had come around. Even then he was never ridiculing Sherlock.  
  
John was far too kind to him and far too open to his rants and insights. It was addicting to have such a captive audience. But even though he was held captive when he listened he had his own opinions. His opinions even helped Sherlock’s brain move to the right conclusion. This was dangerous. He needed to learn to get there on his own again, he needed John to give him some space.  
  
“I know I will.”  
  
“Arrogant sod.”  
  
Sherlock opened the door to his flat.  
  
“I’ll put the coffee on, I think we’re going to have a long night.” But he would let John stay a bit longer…

* * *

John leaned on the counter in the kitchen that faced Sherlock’s living room and watched the man stare at the three pictures he had printed out and tacked up of Henry, Alistair, and Christopher. Sherlock looked manic with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, the tails of the grey oxford pulled out of his pants, missing a sock, and his curly dark hair more of a mess than usual.  
  
He looked completely comfortable and at home, in a home John hadn’t realised he would own. He was glad to see that he wasn’t as cold as Jim because that guy’s flat had serial killer written all over it in John’s mind.  
  
Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair again as if it helped stimulate thoughts. He brought his hands together under his chin like he was praying and threw his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the settee behind him.  
  
 _Why do I want to kiss him even like this? I’ve got Mary. Mary’s delightful and Sherlock… Sherlock insane._  
  
He took a long sip of his coffee before yawning again. It was nearing ten in the morning and he hadn’t slept at all. They had not really got anywhere in the time since they started working through. The restaurant questioning and what they got off of Jim’s computer didn’t give them real solid leads. Sherlock said they would have to find out Anderson, Grimshaw, Smith, and Millers’s whereabouts the days around all three murders and have a look around their flats. Sherlock also wanted more information on Jim and the member’s relationships.  
  
John was starting to favour Jim as the main suspect just because of his flat. It was creepy and far too clean and industrial. Sherlock didn’t seem to agree, though, because he thought that it was still someone being overly competitive or someone angry with The Club.  
  
“Go home,” Sherlock snapped.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You’re exhausted. Surely you have a date with _Mary_ tonight.”  
  
John felt himself smile. If the man really wasn’t jealous he wouldn’t say Mary’s name like it was poisonous. But Christ, if he was jealous John really needed to say something, do something. Mary was perfect and they were taking the relationship slow. It was nice but was just… nice and normal. He felt far more for Sherlock than for Mary but Sherlock did not do relationships. He heard it from everyone who knew him, including the infuriating man himself. “I don’t actually.”  
  
“I’m sick of listening to you think. I need time alone. I’ll let you know if I need you at any point via text. Until you hear from me please do not contact me. I need more data and I need to think. If you think someone is trying to murder you then you may call but anything short of another death do not get in touch with me.” Sherlock jumped up and began to pace. John was sure that the spot in front of his telly was worn in.  
  
“If you need more data – “  
  
“Do I need to escort you out of my flat?”  
  
“No, I’ll go, it’s fine.” John gathered the shirt and tie he had discarded last night after bundling himself up in his coat. “See you.”  
  
“Mmm.” Sherlock was now standing still with his eyes closed.  
  
John walked home, it was a bit of a hike but he felt like if he called a cab he would have fallen asleep and not have been able to wake up unless the cabbie actually pulled him out.  
  
“Sherlock asked me to meet him at the morgue tomorrow night,” Molly said as John walked in to the living room.  
  
John shook his head, “Of course he did.”  
  
“Is that where you’ve been all night? With him?”  
  
“Yeah. Another of the members has been killed.”  
  
“Oh, gosh.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s – yeah…”  
  
Molly frowned, “You should have kip. You look exhausted.”

***

A week later John was out to dinner with Mary. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock over any developments on the case. Mary was talking about how her European Union Law class was boring and John couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Sherlock who was probably breaking into someone’s flat to search for evidence. He hated that he was bored on this date.  
  
 _Ah, fuck._  
  
“Is something wrong?” she questioned with a frown.  
  
“No – yeah – yes, sorry.” John knew he had to do it. Mary was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to be let on and he couldn’t force himself into this relationship anymore. “I think we need to stop seeing each other.”  
  
Mary looked confused, “I thought we were getting on just fine.”  
  
“We are.” _That’s the problem. It’s just fine. It’s boring._ “I think I’ve been cheating on you. I mean, we never said we were exclusive but - ” How did he explain what he was doing with Sherlock to her?  
  
“Right, your mate. I thought there was something more there.” She smiled. “It’s fine, John. I sort of knew you weren’t really in this, why do you think this has moved so slowly? I just didn’t expect you to dump me tonight at dinner.”  
  
John took a deep breath, “Sorry, it just - ”  
  
“It’s okay, really, I get it. As long as you don’t leave me here eating dinner all by myself.” She chuckled.  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Good. He’s a lucky guy, hope he knows that.” John was doubtful about that.  
  
Their dinner was just as the rest, quiet small talk and he gave her a kiss (just on the cheek this time, though) before heading off to Sherlock’s. He stopped at the shop near his house to pick up a few things first.  
  
He knocked on the door and Sherlock threw it open, annoyed at the fact someone was bothering him. He was wearing an old worn Oxford T-shirt and blue plaid bottoms. His hair was sticking out all over the place again.  
  
“I told you not to bother me until after - ”  
  
John shoved Sherlock back inside, “I know, just shut up.” He pushed back into the living room. Sherlock looked intrigued so that was the most likely reason the man was being so compliant. He dropped the bag in his hand on the floor and got rid of his coat before pulling the other man close to him.  
  
“I’m on a case.”  
  
“Have you got any further than you were the last time I saw you?” John placed a kissed on his jaw.  
  
“No.” He felt Sherlock relax as John ran a hand down his back.  
  
“You need a break.” He tugged on the other man’s earlobe.  
  
Sherlock was probably about to say something logical but was cut off by John’s lips. He curled his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and deepened the kiss, letting his tongue explore the now familiar mouth. He tasted like coffee, chocolate, and cigarettes.  
  
John let his hands fall down the man’s body to his slim hips, “May I?” He hooked his fingers around the elastic of Sherlock’s bottoms.  
  
Sherlock nodded and John dropped to his knees before pushing down the pyjamas. “No pants, of course.” He leaned his head on Sherlock’s hip, wrapping a hand around him.  
  
“Seemed pointless.” His voice was deeper than usual.  
  
John nodded in agreement before running his tongue up the underside of Sherlock’s cock. The other man’s breath hitched and a hand fell to the back of John’s head. _Controlling bastard._ But John took his time, even with the insistent hand on his head urging him on.  
  
He pulled off once Sherlock was fully hard. “You’re going to fuck me.”  
  
“I - ”  
  
“Sherlock, please.” John looked up to see the other man’s eyes closed. He swore he saw the man’s self-control shatter in front of his eyes.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Come down here then.” John gripped Sherlock’s hips and encouraged him a bit to join him on the floor. “How is it I’m in more control tonight when I’m going to bottom when it’s usually the other way around every other time we shag?”  
  
“Shut up, John.” Sherlock knocked John back before taking his shirt off and fighting the rest of his way out of his bottoms. He reached for the shopping bag John had dropped earlier. “Lube, condoms, biscuits and tea?”  
  
“Essentials.” John tugged off his jumper as Sherlock worked on his trousers.  
  
“I hope you’re not going to take too long to prepare, I don’t have the patience for that at the moment,” Sherlock said once they were both undressed.  
  
“I shouldn’t… and at the moment? How about when do you ever have the patience?”  
  
“Interesting. We should talk more about of your masturbation habits another time.” Sherlock opened the lube and John put his feet flat on the floor and bent his knees. A few seconds later Sherlock was pressing a finger into him.  
  
“Mmm, feels good,” John sighed and let his eyes close.  
  
“I’m actually sorry never doing this with you before, you’re face is fabulously expressive.” Sherlock pressed further, finding John’s prostate.  
  
“Fuck, Christ, that’s perfect. More.” He arched his back and clenched his fist.  
  
Sherlock surprisingly listened, pulling out and adding another long finger. His other hand stroked John firmly.  
  
“You keep this up long enough I’m going to come like this.” John said after Sherlock brushed over that bundle of nerves for what felt like the hundredth time. He could feel that he was getting too close to the edge and he didn’t want it to end so soon.  
  
It wasn’t long before Sherlock was tearing open the condom packet with his teeth. John went to turn over but a hand on his stomach stopped him. “Like this.”  
  
“Okay.” John hooked a leg around Sherlock’s waist to bring him closer in order to kiss him.  
  
After a few long moments of passionate kisses Sherlock moved back up and pressed himself into John. John’s brain felt like it short-circuited at the feeling of Sherlock inside of him.  
  
“You feel so good,” John gasped. “Next time you listen to me when I say, fuck me.” He moaned as Sherlock rolled his hips.  
  
“Your ideas are not always terrible.” He pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips forwards again before slowly repeating the process.  
  
“If you don’t start moving faster-”  
  
Sherlock didn’t need any more of the sentence to start thrusting hard and fast. John grabbed for the other man’s hips again and looked at Sherlock. The man looked absolutely fascinated by John’s body, his eyes couldn’t stop flitting around, clearly cataloguing John’s reactions.  
  
“Get out of your head and kiss me,” John said as firmly as one could when out of breath and another man shagging the hell out of him.  
  
He looked torn between watching him and kissing him but gave into him and moved to meet John’s lips, sliding a hand between them to bring John off.  
  
John could feel the wave of pleasure working its way over him and right before he came, Sherlock moved so he could look back down over John’s body. With one more thrust John came undone. Sherlock didn’t take much longer to follow behind and when he finished he collapsed partly on top of John.  
  
“That was bloody fantastic.” John winced as Sherlock pulled out and then rolled onto his back, away from John.  
  
“That… that was distraction.” Sherlock’s chest was rising and falling rapidly still. “You broke up with Mary.”  
  
John propped himself up to look down at Sherlock, “I did.” He answered even though it wasn’t a question.  
  
“That’s – not the smartest thing you’ve done.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, “It was for me.”  
  
“Obvious, aren’t I?”  
  
“I have work to do.”  
  
John nodded. He understood that this was important to Sherlock to work out but he needed to make sure they worked things out eventually. “When you’re finished with this case, we’re going to talk about it – us.”  
  
“I – fine. After, I have far too much going on.”  
  
“Tell me what you have so far. I haven’t seen you in a week.”  
  
“I’ve ruled out Club members and now I’m looking into people on the outside who maybe holding grudges against The Club.” Sherlock stood up and offered John a hand to come to his feet. Then they proceeded to clean themselves up and looked into what Sherlock had found so far.


	10. I Overlooked It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock figures out who the murderer is a bit too late.

John woke up with a start alone in Sherlock’s bed. He hadn’t left Sherlock’s flat for almost two whole days now. He had received multiple texts on where he was from his flatmates wondering if he was still alive. It was now Sunday and he needed to finish a few things for classes before the week started. He hadn’t done much to help Sherlock aside from make tea and force-feeding him toast and biscuits so the man wouldn’t pass out.  
  
He rolled onto his stomach and felt the other side of the bed. Cold. Sherlock probably didn’t sleep again. If he did it was in the living room or he came in and only slept for two or three hours without waking John. He was starting to worry about Sherlock’s well-being, not that he wasn’t before. But it seemed like now he was really pushing his body to the breaking point. It wasn’t healthy but John wasn’t sure what he could do aside from feeding him and tell him that he should have a kip here and there.  
  
 _He can’t drop dead before we actually go on a real date._  
  
John sighed and rolled out of bed, grabbing the dressing gown Sherlock had been letting him use. He found Sherlock sitting in his black leather chair, plucking at a violin. “I didn’t know you played.”  
  
“You can’t feel the calluses on my fingers?” Sherlock snapped.  
  
“We’re not all geniuses.”  
  
“Clearly.”  
  
John nodded, ignoring Sherlock’s temper. The man was wound tighter than anything. John headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on.  
  
“I think you need to get out of the flat,” he said loud enough for Sherlock to hear but to his surprise when he turned around Sherlock was standing in the archway of the kitchen. “God knows how long you have been in here. Some sunlight might do you some good, looks nice out today.”  
  
“I’ve been out of the flat recently. I’ve just been here the last few days since you decided to barge in. I don’t believe that sunlight is going to give me some answers.” He folded his arms.  
  
“It might not give you answers but it might make you feel a bit better.”  
  
“I’m getting nowhere, John, unless if has to do with the case but I have nothing on for that outside these walls today. I can’t see the mistake. It’s there somewhere but I can’t see it.” Sherlock pointed to the mess of the living room behind him. The floor, table, and settee were covered in books and papers and files. John had no idea what was on or in any of them.  
  
John frowned and moved over to Sherlock to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll never get there if you don’t relax.”  
  
“I’m unsure of what to do next. I’ve been over everything hundreds of times, hundreds of ways. I’m missing it. I keep missing it. I need something to go on.”  
  
“You just haven’t found it yet.” John rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “You will soon.”  
  
“I need to be alone.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes. I’ve needed to be alone but you -”  
  
“Yeah, I know I barged in here.”  
  
“Thank you.” Sherlock cleared his throat.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“The barging and the… the sex.”  
  
John laughed, “Oh, okay.” He wasn’t expecting that at all.  
  
“It - it was a nice distraction but I need to return to the work.” Sherlock’s hand fell to John’s hip and squeezed.

“All right, I need to head home to do some work. If you need any more distractions or help, let me know because I do love helping you.” John dropped a kiss on his lips then one on his collarbone.

“You’re not staying for tea?” He could have sworn it sounded as if the other man was disappointed.  
  
“If I don’t leave now I’ll get stuck here, it’s like a black hole.” He stepped away from Sherlock. “Eat something with that tea.”  
  
“Mmm, sure.”

***

Another week passed by slowly and John didn’t see Sherlock once. He would occasionally get a text message from the man about a suspect or a theory but nothing else. John just wanted this thing to be done with so Sherlock would return to his normal self, well normal for Sherlock. He also wanted get everything out about their relationship. It was like he was in purgatory. John was seriously worried the man was going to unintentionally kill himself by throwing himself so far into this case.  
  
John figured that another week of solitude for Sherlock was enough, so he went back to Sherlock’s flat without warning. He really should have sent him a text message but he was out and near the flat. All he wanted to do was bring some food to make sure the man was at least eating but, of course it couldn’t have been that easy.  
  
Victor was leaving Sherlock’s as John approached his door. “Oh, you do not want to go in there, mate.” Victor laughed.  
  
“Why’s that?” John raised an eyebrow.  
  
“He’s having a bit of a fit.” Victor leaned against the wall. “I’ll give you about five minutes then I think we should go get dinner. I’m famished and Sherlock is being a twat. If you last longer than that, well, good for you.”  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
“I’ll be right here.”  
  
John nodded and took a breath before entering the flat. Sherlock threw a plate right by his head as the door closed behind him.  
  
“What the fuck, Sherlock?” His heart thumped in his chest.  
  
“John? Oh, I thought you were Victor.” Sherlock’s eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.  
  
“Are you high?” He went to the kitchen, passing Sherlock on the way.  
  
Sherlock laughed as John dropped the bags on the counter. “That’s the first thing you ask. Of all the important things you could ask - ”  
  
“This is why I didn’t want to date you in the first place.” John rubbed his face as he went back to the living room where Sherlock was staring at the picture collage that was now covering an entire wall of members of The Club, images of crime scenes, and photos of possible suspects.  
  
“We aren’t dating, are we? You have nothing to worry about.”  
  
“Why are you being an arsehole?” He shook his head. “You need to stop, okay? I understand you want to solve this and I think you can but you’re a mess! If you snort or shoot yourself up with drugs then you can’t think clearly.”  
  
“Bugger off, why don’t you? I’m fine without you. I don’t need you here or around me at all. The drugs help me think, John.” Sherlock flopped on to the settee. “There was another murder on campus. Staged suicide. Last night.”  
  
John shook his head, “Who?”  
  
“Irene Adler! She’s not even a part of The Club. This is someone who hates the people that we associate with. There’s probably no evidence, again.”  
  
“You haven’t looked?”  
  
“Why bother?” Sherlock rolled so his back was to John.  
  
John couldn’t stand this side of Sherlock. He had seen him throw fits before but this was some other level. It didn’t help that he was high.  
  
“Victor was right… it was less than five minutes, though.” John huffed in annoyance. “I’m going. If you ever get your mind back, call me. Maybe if you stopped killing your brain cells with the shit you put in your body you could think. You know what? Don’t call me until you’re done with the drugs. Full stop.  I thought I could do it but I can’t.”  
  
“Thank God, you’re leaving. I can’t think with all the space your tiny thoughts are taking up!”  
  
 _Fuck Sherlock. Fuck him. I can’t do addicts. No matter how I feel about him when he’s not on anything it isn’t good enough. I’ll let him kill himself. Fuck this. Fuck it._  
  
John stepped outside the door, “Well, that’s no fun.” Victor frowned. “Instead of food maybe we should get pissed instead!”  
  
“Sure.”

* * *

An hour later Sherlock was curled up on his settee pressing his fingers into his skull, trying to make his brain stop reeling. Nothing was working this time. Heroin, cocaine, and even the presence of John didn’t put things into focus. This case didn’t make any sense and whatever he was missing was not coming to him. He had never had a murder for a case and now that he had four he couldn’t solve a damned thing.  
  
Minutes later his phone vibrated on the table. He reached for it to see a text from Molly:

> **Note on Adler: This is for you, love  
>  Thought you should know xOx Molls**

Sherlock shot up from his supine position to his feet. He suddenly felt ill as it all fell together in his brain.  
  
 _Victor Trevor. It was jealousy. I had slept with Henry, Alistair, Christopher, and Irene in that order. He is charming, brilliant, and jealous. He had wanted to date me last year but I turned him down. He gave up far too easy for his level of attraction. I thought he was fine with it since I continued to shag him after a month or so. Oh, he is good, too good. I should have seen this right away._  
  
“I OVERLOOKED IT! IDIOT!” he scolded himself as he paced.  
  
 _Victor was here before -_ “John.” He eyes went wide.  
  
Sherlock went to his contacts and called John but it went straight to voicemail. Then he sent a text:

> **Answer your phone! Now. Very important.  
>  – SH**

He grabbed his coat and headed to John’s flat. It was possible that John went straight home and had nothing to do with Victor but he had heard their voices in the hall after he had sent them both away. “John!” He burst into the front door to find Lestrade and Sarah studying in the living room.  
  
“Ah, he went to see you like two hours ago, mate.”  
  
“He came, then left,” Sherlock snapped. “Has he texted you, phoned either of you?”  
  
“You’re high - ”  
  
“John is in danger!”  
  
Sarah sat up right, looking nervous. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean the man that has been killing members of The Club has been doing so to get my attention!” he yelled and fisted his hands. “He’s going to be after John sooner or later and I believe that it is sooner! It is right now!”  
  
“Okay, calm down.” Lestrade stood up. “Let’s go to this guys place, then we’ll check around campus.”  
  
His phone chimed:

> **Glad to have you finally figured it out.**
> 
> **Come join me, you know where I am.**

“It’s of no use. I know where he is.” Sherlock went for the door.  
  
“Wait! I’m coming with, you might need some help.” Lestrade and Sarah both ran after him.  
  
“Just don’t get in my way.” He grabbed John’s car keys that were hanging by the door.  
  
Sherlock sped to St Edmund Hall. It was the first place that came to Sherlock’s mind when he thought of Victor. One bored, drunk night the previous year there had happened upon a tiny room in the basement. They had spent many hours shagging and getting high. It was a nice oasis from his student residence. Victor had told him there that he wanted to be with him and Sherlock had turned him down.  
  
“I’m calling the 999,” Sarah said in the hallway of the basement. “Why didn’t I do that before?” Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.  
  
“Adrenaline,” Sherlock said quietly as they approached the door. “They’re in there. Stay here unless I call you.”  
  
“Bollocks, I am right behind you.”  
  
“Honestly, after your degree join the force and do not become a barrister.” Sherlock opened the door and he felt his breath catch as he looked into the dimly lit, tiny room. John was propped up in a chair with blood dried under his nose and on his chin. He had clearly been beaten and drugged.  
  
Sherlock never felt as strongly for someone as he had in that moment.  
  
I do love him.  
  
He hated it. He hated that this was his fault that John was in this position for not catching on sooner. He had even pondered the idea of jealousy but wrote it off because he didn’t think anyone he knew would do that.  
  
“Hello, Sherly.” Victor smiled from where he was leaning against a round table next to. “It took you so long, hope you didn’t mind the push in the right direction.”  
  
Sherlock felt Lestrade standing stock still behind him. “Victor.”  
  
“Yeah, let’s all greet each other,” Lestrade snapped.  
  
“Brought friends? Oh, John’s friends.” Victor looked bored. “Were my puzzles too complicated?”  
  
“I was just looking in the wrong places. If I were a complete idiot I wouldn’t have noticed any sort of connection.”  
  
“Well, in any case, you’re here now. I was going to draw this out but you were such a mess the last two times I have seen you and I had that luck encounter earlier with John at your flat.” Victor picked up a hunting knife from the table and slid it down to John’s neck. “Explain it.”  
  
“Do not hurt him,” Sherlock bit out.  
  
“Tell me how I did it and why?”  
  
Sherlock looked to John’s whose eyes were half-lidded; he was oblivious to what was happening.  
  
“You killed Henry the night after you brought me back to yours. You gave me something, other than the speedball. I should have realised it that night but I assumed I lost my night because of the drugs I knowingly ingested. You returned to the club and pressured Henry into doing the speedball. The man was boring but he also gave in to peer pressure very easily, especially when wasted. You dosed him with far too much, leading him to his death.”  
  
“Yes. Go on, you’re doing very well.”  
  
“Alistair, you had been to his home over the term break with a few other members and changed the brake lines to worn-out ones?”

Victor nodded, “I have a friend who does work on cars in the area, brought it down there one day when they were all hungover and playing video games. They thought I just popped out to the shops. What about Christopher?”  
  
“Easy, there was a health and safety inspection days before the death. It was you, wasn’t it? I didn’t even think to ask too much about it, they said it was routine.” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to control himself. “You switched out the bottle and you probably helped Jim about the menu that week. That one was quite a bit of work.”  
  
“They were all a bit tedious but…”  
  
Sherlock ignored him and carried on, “As for Irene, I haven’t seen the scene or her body but Molly said that she had hung herself. Odd, you should have gone for pills. I’m guessing you drugged her, then hung her.”  
  
“And why?” Victor stood behind John’s chair and dropped the knife to the other man’s stomach.  
  
“You did this to get me. You’re jealous and I’ve slept with these people. I assumed you were over me but you were not. Now you’re using John as some type of ransom. I’d say you’re a psychopath but you’re killing people for your own twisted idea of love. No, you’re just obsessive and have some sick personality.”  
  
“Oh, stop that. You were always yammering on about how you wanted a good murder, so I gave you murders. I thought you’d appreciate it but you don’t.”  
  
“So what, what do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. Just do not hurt John. He has nothing to do with this.” Sherlock heard pleading in his own voice.  
  
“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Victor ran his knife lightly across John’s abdomen and Sherlock felt a lump in his throat. “You’re never going to want me more than you want him.”  
  
“I don’t want him. I don’t want you. I don’t want anyone.” He knew his voice wasn’t confident at all.  
  
“You’re lying!” Victor thundered, then laughed. “You’re lying. You should see the fear and terror on your face and how you’re looking at him. For a while I thought it was true that you didn’t want me because you couldn’t feel and I hated it but I was working on you, I thought I could get things to go in my favour. Then John came along. Boring, ordinary, John Watson.”  
  
“John is not boring. Though he may not be as interesting as you.”  
  
Victor continued on, “You spend so much time with him. You talk about him when you’re with me. You’re so obviously in love, it’s hateful.”  
  
“I don’t –“  
  
“You need to stop fooling yourself. We all know.”  
  
“If you know this, then why -”  
  
“Can’t you answer that yourself?” Victor cocked his head to the side. His eyes were playful and it made Sherlock’s stomach turn. How did he not see how sick and twisted Victor was behind his uptight, well-kept, and charming image?  
  
“If you can’t have me, then no one can.” Sherlock felt as if his stomach was in his throat.  
  
“Brilliant!”  
  
What happened next all came in a flurry. Victor pushed down and dragged the knife back across John’s abdomen and Sherlock couldn’t stop the strangled scream that came out of his throat. Somehow, Sherlock surged forward and slammed Victor’s face against the wall before kneeling down in front of John, who had fallen to the ground. Sarah and Greg were then at his elbow, pulling him away and there were police and EMTs everywhere.  
  
“Sherlock, come on, we’ll go to the hospital,” Sarah said softly; her voice trembled. “He’ll be okay.”  
  
He knew the chances of surviving such a wound were low. There was possible damage to the intestines, bowels, liver, gall bladder, and kidney. Not to mention he had been given an unknown amount of heroin, he was likely overdosing.  
  
“That’s an illogical thing to say.”


	11. Rehabilitation & Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a life-changing choice and John is left to wonder what's next.

Sherlock stared at the linoleum floor, trying to work through ways the surgeons were attempting to save John’s life. They had been in the hospital for three hours. One of which was spent being questioned by the police about what had happened in that little room. They were going to need follow-up but they had left Sherlock and John’s friends to wait in the quiet waiting room. No one could tell Sherlock or anyone what was going on because they weren’t John’s immediate family. Sarah had called Harriet and she was on her way. But until then they had to wait in silence.  
  
All of John’s friends had cried, Molly the most. Stamford’s eyes welled up and his girlfriend choked out a sob. Lestrade silently shed a few tears but mostly paced nervously. Sarah covered her faced and sniffled for a few moments.  
  
Sherlock sat in silence trying to focus on deducing the people and things around him along with the possible strategies to keep John alive and with all his organs. He felt like he wanted to claw out of his own skin. He tugged at his hair and rocked in his chair to combat the nausea. He could not be sure if he was starting to feel the affects of a withdrawal or if it was physical affects of anxiety. He had never lost someone he loved. He had only loved his parents and brother before John (which he would only begrudgingly admit to himself). Now the only unrelated person he had ever thought about loving was probably tittering on the edge of death on an operating table.  
  
Love and relationships were always things he had avoided. It was not as if his parents had a terrible marriage, rather the opposite. But Sherlock had seen other families torn apart, read about the endless amount of crimes committed in the name of passion (Victor only being one tragic example), and saw the problems that relationships brought them through deducing or studying forensics. Love generally made people stupid or lead them to do ridiculous things. Love consumed people and Sherlock had no time in his life to be consumed with anything except what was not truly important. There were also certain expectations of couples that Sherlock had no ambition to uphold.  
  
But then there was John. John made him question if he really had no ambition for what it took to be in a relationship. Sherlock wanted to put aside work and experiments and wrap himself up in John Watson’s mind and body. He even slept with John in the middle of the biggest investigation he had ever got the chance to be a part of when all he should have been thinking about were the facts. There was science involved in the attraction but not all of it could explain his desire to be with John.  
  
He lashed out and sent John away earlier because he wasn’t helping him think but nothing was. Maybe he should have let him stay and make tea and they could have talked out the case before receiving Molly’s text that led him to Victor. If that happened then John would not have stormed off. Or would he have? Sherlock was high and that was a part of their agreement.  
  
 _There’s no use in thinking in what-ifs._ _Stop being an idiot._  
  
“Oh, Christ, there you lot are.” Sherlock looked up to see two women in their mid-twenties. One was obviously John’s sister as they shared the same nose, skin complexion, and sandy blonde hair. The other was her current partner, John had mentioned her but Sherlock hadn’t cared enough to remember her name. “Has there been any news?” Harriet questioned, twisting her hands.  
  
“No.” Sarah stood up and hugged her. “He’s been in there for a few hours now.” She stepped back and hugged her own arms.  
  
Harriet took a deep breath and looked to Sherlock, “You’re Sherlock Holmes.” She marched over to him and slapped him. He knew that was coming. The sting on his cheek distracted him a bit from the rest of the pain his body was feeling. She leaned down and pointed a finger at him. Her eyes were red from crying and surprisingly her breath didn’t smell like alcohol. “This is your bloody fault! If he never met you – if he –“

“Harry, stop.” Her partner pulled her back. “I’m sure he blames himself enough, look at him.”  
  
Sherlock chewed on his cheek and sat back, casting his eyes away from her glare.  
  
“Ah, I see it. I get it now, why he wouldn’t date you or admit it.” She scoffed, “You’re bloody withdrawing! Look at you. My brother won’t date an addict, that’s why! Johnny doesn’t deserve you.”  
  
He stayed silent. Sherlock had no energy to argue with her. He could have called her out on addiction but she had clearly been sober for sometime now. He also had no intention of leaving until he knew that John had at least made it through surgery and couldn’t risk being thrown out.  
  
“Come on,” Harriet’s partner spoke calmly.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes,” the very familiar posh voice called out.  
  
“Oh, bloody hell. Can I please just receive one lecture at a time?” His eyes met his brother who was dressed in a three-piece suit. _Prat._  
  
“Brother?” Lestrade looked between the two. “I really thought for awhile that you just spawned from something.”  
  
Mycroft let out a bit of a laugh, “I have thought that at times myself but our parents assure us that we are related.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock dug his nails into his palms as Harriet went to take a seat on the other side of the waiting room with Sarah, Mike, and her partner.  
  
“I received a phone call saying you were involved in an incident on campus. Well, Mummy and Father did but they’re currently in Istanbul so they sent me to make sure that you were all right. Campus security indicated that you were at the hospital. Your friend was stabbed and you were there when it occurred with two others. Now, I was surprised as you’ve informed me numerous times that you don’t have friends but that’s clearly wrong. From the looks of the people here it doesn’t seem like something seedy either. Is this who you were seeing in Paris that you didn’t invite to dinner even though Mummy insisted?”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
“Ah, are you dating him? This John Watson.”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
“ _Language_.”  
  
“Mycroft, I do not understand why you are here right now. You could have called.”  
  
“And you would have told me what had happened or even answered for that matter.” Mycroft stayed standing in front of him, holding his hands behind his back.  
  
“I’m not going to tell you now.”  
  
“You know that I don’t need to be told,” Mycroft said quickly. “Is there anything you need? You look… unwell.”  
  
There were many things that Sherlock needed but most of which he didn’t think Mycroft could or would want to deliver. Well, there’s one thing that he could do… Sherlock took a deep breath, “Rehab.” He practically jumped up from his chair. John did say he didn’t want to speak to him until he was clean. Plus, it obviously had not helped him on solving the case. “I want you to call whatever place it is you threaten to send me to all the time. I’m going. As soon as he’s out of surgery, I’m going.”  
  
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him.  
  
“You’re serious.”  
  
“Very.”  
  
“You do know what this means for your trust fund?”  
  
“Yes, I know but it doesn’t really matter does it?” Sherlock rubbed his eyes and started to pace. John wouldn’t see him until he was clean so why not do it right?  
  
“That’s up to you how much it matters but I’m just reminding you of the consequences. They were clear after the time they had found –“

“I know!” Sherlock snapped. “Call the centre now and do what you must.”  
  
“It’s in Switzerland.”  
  
Sherlock waved at him and made his way to the bathroom.  
  
Once he was finished being sick he splashed some water on his face and then looked in the mirror. He looked like absolute hell. He could hear John’s voice in his head telling him he needed to take better care of himself.  
  
After a few moments he opened the door to find Lestrade standing against the wall across from the toilets, “You all right?”  
  
“No, I did not take anything.”  
  
“Ha, I could tell. You look like utter shit. Want a cigarette?”  
  
“God, yes.” Sherlock’s fingers twitched at the thought of nicotine.  
  
They went out to the smoking area near the hospital and quietly enjoyed their cigarettes for a few moments.   
  
“So, you’re going to rehab?”  
  
“You heard the conversation with my brother, yes I am.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Sherlock took a drag, “It didn’t help and John won’t speak to me again until I’m done.”  
  
“I think you’re a twat.”  
  
“I know that, why are we speaking?”  
  
“I thought you were far more than a twat when we first met and did for a while but for some reason John loves you. You really love John, too. You should have seen yourself back there –“  
  
“Please, stop talking. I have enough of a headache as it is.” Sherlock tossed his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it.

Lestrade snickered and patted Sherlock on the shoulder.

***

Two hours later the surgeon finally came out to the waiting room to deliver the news to Harriet. John was going to be fine as long as they made sure he healed well. He was put on antibiotics to avoid infection as well as medication to get him through whatever withdrawal he might have felt from the heroin overdose. He was going to be kept in the hospital for at least a week.

There was an audible sigh of relief heard from everyone in the waiting room, aside from Mycroft who was now booking Sherlock’s flight, no doubt.  
  
“He’s going to be groggy for some time and we’d like him to rest so he won’t be seeing visitors until tomorrow. I would say you may all go home and come back maybe in small shifts during visitor hours.”  
  
Harriet nodded and the surgeon left them all standing in a semi-circle looking at the swinging doors when he went through.  
  
“When’s my flight?” Sherlock spun on his heel.  
  
“Not even going to stay until you can see him?” Harriet turned to him, looking as angry as she was when she had walked in.  
  
Sherlock didn’t answer her. He just walked out of the hospital, assuming that his brother would follow.

***

Later that night he was sitting in Gatwick waiting to board his flight, Mycroft was beside him on the phone with their parents explaining the situation. They were undoubtedly going to come visit him. He wondered if he could set up visitor restrictions.  
  
“They’re very worried,” Mycroft tucked his phone into his pocket. “You’ve given them a scare.”  
  
“You mean I’ve disappointed them.”  
  
Mycroft sighed loudly, “This is a very brave thing to do, baby brother.”  
  
“Please refrain from calling me that.”  
  
“I mean it. To admit that there truly is a problem –“  
  
“You mean finally admit after how many overdoses and how times I ended up in places I shouldn’t have been where you came to bail me out. This is the last time you get to save me,” Sherlock declared. “Now, shut up and give me those pills you promised.”

* * *

John glared at his phone, willing it to ring. It was his fourth day in the hospital and he was starting to get antsy. Granted, he was in an enormous amount of pain when he moved but he couldn’t stand looking at the same walls much longer.  
  
Waking up to find that he had been drugged and nearly gutted by his boyfriend’s ( _not boyfriend, you told him you never wanted to see him if he was using and he’s a twat)_ psycho ex wasn’t the greatest thing. Before anyone showed up in the morning to visit he began to piece together the previous day: the fight with Sherlock, driving to the pub with Victor, and then blacking out in the car. He didn’t remember how he got the wound but Greg and Sarah told the rest of the story. He apparently did not remember the incident because of the concussion and the overdose.  
  
They also told him about how Sherlock almost killed Victor when it happened and how the man was beside himself the whole time in the waiting room. He learned that Sherlock’s brother came after receiving news about the whole thing and Sherlock asked his brother to send him to rehab. This was apparently after Harry yelled at and hit Sherlock.  
  
“Good morning, Johnny.” She came into the room with Clara. “Guess who’s here!”  
  
 _Sherlock?_ “I don’t know.”  
  
“Uncle Hank!” She pointed to the door and Henrique joined them.  
  
“John! Are you all right?” He came to John’s bedside.  
  
“Ah, been better.” He grimaced as he attempted to get himself comfortable.  
  
“I was talking to the surgeon who worked on you and said that you should be okay. He said he’s going to let you go home in a few days.” Henrique picked up John’s chart.  
  
“I know.” He pulled at his sheets. “You didn’t have to come.”  
  
“Nonsense.” Henrique put the chart down. “So, where is Sherlock?”  
  
John looked at his phone again. He had sent about thirty texts, three emails, and left two voicemails. It was probably obsessive but he just wanted to talk to him. There were a lot of things that they needed to talk about it. The last he saw Sherlock, that he remembered at least, John told him that he couldn’t be with him because of the drugs and Sherlock was an arse. Then he turned around and went to rehab.  
  
“He fucked off to somewhere.”  
  
“Can you stop it?” John snapped at his sister. “He didn’t do this to me. In fact, he did everything he could to not have this done to me.”  
  
“If he wasn’t so bloody high maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here?”  
  
“Harriet, do not get your brother worked up.” Henrique shook his head. “He does not need you after him right now. Go get a coffee with Clara.”  
  
“Uncle Hank –“  
  
“Harriet,” he said firmly. “Go on.”  
  
She practically pouted as Clara shoved her coat in her direction.  
  
Henrique took a seat and looked at John, “Where are your parents?”  
  
John’s jaw clenched, “I haven’t told them. Neither has Harry.”  
  
“Probably for the best,” Henrique said. “You do not need anymore stress.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“What are you going to do about Sherlock?”  
  
He sighed loudly, “I want – I don’t know. I just want to see him.”  
  
Henrique nodded, “I talked to him, you know. I told him not to hurt you.”  
  
John chuckled softly, “He must have loved that.”  
  
“He denied loving you but he was lying. He said he’d never hurt you and he has. He obviously didn’t mean to, I’m sure he’s very upset. Not to mention, he’s no doubt in some pain himself if he’s withdrawing.”  
  
“I guess.” John flattened his hand on his thighs. Harry probably told Henrique about Sherlock’s drug problems.  
  
“You contacted him?”  
  
“I tried… he hasn’t answered.”  
  
“There’s a chance that he’s unable to. Maybe the centre he is in will not let him have his phone.”  
  
John had considered it but it would have been nice to get a phone call, just to know that Sherlock was still thinking about him. Unless if Sherlock didn’t want to be with John anymore. It was a possibility.


	12. What a Ridiculous Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally reunite.

Sherlock stretched out on his childhood bed and stared up at the ceiling. Freedom from the rehab centre after ninety days should have been a fantastic feeling but he went from the confines of the grounds to the even smaller confines of his parents’ home in London. It seemed that the rules were far stricter. His parents wouldn’t let him out of the house after eight and they were constantly keeping tabs on him. It was worse than when he was growing up.  
  
He had suffered through group therapy and stupid self-growth sessions all in the name of getting clean for John Hamish Watson. He hadn’t learned a thing, aside from the fact that he hated everyone involved in the so-called “science” of psychology.  
  
But he survived. His first week or so was blurred together with cramps, headaches, and vomiting. Then there were the cravings. He had to sit through those in the various therapy sessions without killing himself or someone else. When he wasn’t forced to sit through therapy he spent time in the gardens smoking or sitting in his room glaring at the walls.  
  
He passed most of those boring days thinking about John. At night he had nightmares of blood and knives and John lying dead on the ground while Sherlock could do nothing but stare over the body. But during the days his mind wandered to John studying or John trying to save someone’s life or John’s hands on him or John in him. He wondered how John’s scar looked. He wondered how fast he had been released from the hospital. He wondered if John thought about him as much as he was thinking about John.  
  
Sherlock thought of sending John a letter multiple times but he was never sure what to write so he waited until he arrived home. When he returned home he found texts, emails, and phone calls from the man all within a month then they stopped. The last one being:

> **I just want to hold you.**

He felt warmth through his chest and held his phone tight for a few moments.

> **I’m home. – SH**

Not a minute later John texted back.

> **Ahh, you are alive.  
>   
>  Can I see you? – SH  
>   
> We haven’t talked for 3 fucking months! And you text me?  
>   
> Would you prefer I call? - SH  
>   
> I have things to do.  Term is ending.  
>   
> Do you not want to see me? - SH  
>   
> Can we do this in a few days? Been three months. It can wait. Right?  
>   
> Ok - SH**

_Oh, that’s not very good, is it?_  
  
John didn’t say to piss off and never speak to him but it still wasn’t what he had expected. Certainly it would be better to speak about things in person. Sherlock hated that he felt as if something was wrapping around his heart over John’s dismissal. He needed to do something.

***

The next morning he was having breakfast with his mother, “I’m going to Oxford tomorrow. I need to see John. It’s his birthday and I’ve a gift for him. I’m sure they’re doing something for it as it’s also the day after term ends.”  
  
Mummy frowned into her coffee, “I thought we decided that you were not to go to Oxford.”  
  
“This is why I’m telling you,” he gritted out.  
  
“I would like to see Marie. It’s been years since we’ve got together. I could take a day up to see her for lunch, I suppose.”  
  
“I am not a child.”  
  
“Really because I haven’t seen you act as an adult yet.” She added sugar to her coffee. “If you would like to go to Oxford I can take you to see John. I’d very much like to meet him.”  
  
“Why?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, he is your boyfriend. Isn’t that what mother’s do?”  
  
“I thought you’d be disapproving.”  
  
“Darling, honestly? This is probably the smartest choice you’ve ever made in your life,” she said as if exhausted with this topic. “You may go if I get to meet this man.”   
  
Sherlock chewed on his lip. “Fine.”  
  
“You’re not allowed to stay the night, though.”  
  
“I’ll be in the house of three future doctors. They do not have drugs in the house. Also, John never wanted to be around me when I was using.”  
  
She smiled knowingly, “You’re able to go if you let me meet him and if you do not stay the night because who knows where you’ll go at night.”  
  
“I also need to pack up my things. My violin is at my flat.” Outside of John, his violin was the one thing he missed terribly.  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ve gone and cleaned out everything that you say is not good.”

“That I say is not good for you?” she repeated her son.  
  
He picked at his toast, ignoring his mother.  
  
“I’ll contact Marie and we’ll see about Saturday.”  
  
Sherlock was going to get to Oxford on Saturday if his mother liked it or not. He was not a child and she did not get to dictate everything that he did.

***

Marie was free to do lunch and Sherlock left for Oxford with his mother Saturday mid-morning. She let him drive, thankfully, but insisted on talking the entire journey. By the time Sherlock pulled up to John’s house he was ready for a cigarette ( _but she took all those away too, didn’t she?).  
_

“This is… quaint.” She meant old and a bit run-down. “I thought he had money.” She said while Sherlock reached for his gift.  
  
“Is that all you care about?”  
  
“Of course not, it’s just not what I expected. He’s a young millionaire, soon to be doctor.”

“He owns the home, rents rooms out to his friends, and plans to do work on it over the summer, so when the time comes for him to move on he can sell it,” Sherlock explained as they walked to the door. He felt a bit nervous as they approached. _Odd._  
  
“Oh, I see.”  
  
“John does not flaunt his wealth. Most of the time he doesn’t know what to do with it.” He rang the bell and a moment later Lestrade opened the door. The man looked confused then angry and then punched Sherlock.  
  
“Oh goodness!” His mother looked on in horror.  
  
“Hell, um, sorry, I didn’t see you. Sorry.” He stumbled over his words.  
  
“I believe that was for not contacting his best mate in three months, Mummy.”  
  
“Good deduction. Um, you’re his mum?”  
  
“Yes, I assume this isn’t John Watson.”  
  
“No, Greg Lestrade, ma’ma. I apologize again,” Lestrade extended his hand.  
  
“It’s all right, sometimes I wonder if that’s just what he needs.” She chuckled and they shook hands. “Are you fine, darling?”  
  
Sherlock felt his cheek and stretched his jaw before nodding, “I’m fine.”  
  
“Well, I guess since that’s out of the way…” Lestrade took a deep breath. “Come on, we’re having a bit of a thing for John’s birthday. We’re all having lunch out in the garden, the girls, Mike, Anna, Harry, Clara, his Uncle’s here, oh and Molls has a boyfriend. You need to tell me if he’s cheating because I don’t trust the bloke.”  
  
“That’s because you’re interested in her.” Sherlock and his mother followed Lestrade through the house out to the back garden.  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
He huffed out an annoyed breath as they reached the back door to the garden. Everyone was sitting around two foldaway tables and chairs they must have rented for the lunch. There was plenty of food and everyone was chatting and laughing. It all stopped when John looked over to see Sherlock.  
  
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Harry stood up.  
  
“Harriet!” Henrique gestured for her to sit.  
  
“I – what – um… are your Mrs Holmes?” John Watson, ever the gentleman, stood up and left the table to greet them.  
  
“Oh, yes, hello John. It’s so nice to meet you.” Sherlock’s mother shook John’s hand.  
  
“Would you like something to drink?”  
  
“She would not.” Sherlock glared at her.  
  
“Sherlock.” John sounded exasperated as if he had been dealing with him constantly for the last three months.  
  
“It’s fine, John, I’ve dealt with his rudeness for twenty years now. It makes me feel I’ve failed at teaching him manners.” She smiled. “I would love to stay and talk but I’m off to have lunch with an old school friend. Maybe after we can have tea. I only wanted to –“  
  
“Make sure this wasn’t a drug den.”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.”  
  
“She believes I’m a child.”  
  
“I should be off now. I’ll be late. But it was nice to meet you, John.”  
  
“We’ll walk you out. Won’t we, Sherlock?”  
  
“Why do you do that when you want to talk?”  
  
“Because he’s polite.” His mother followed John back inside.  
  
After finally getting his mother out John shut the door behind her and turned to Sherlock, his arms folded in a defensive position.   
  
“Three months of radio silence then I get a text and then you show up on my door step?” John yelled. “You’re an arse. You left me without saying goodbye after your fucking crazy ex-boyfriend tried to kill me! Which, by the way, I was ready for a long trial because you know he’s bloody rich and then it took about five minutes. You could have contacted me, somehow. I was worried about you, were you even thinking about me?”  
  
“Everyday. All the time,” Sherlock said quietly, unsure if John was finished.  
  
“You went to re –“ John stopped abruptly. “Everyday? All the time?”  
  
“There was little else to think of and even if there were I find that I tend to think of you quite often. Before, even when I was busy doing things that should have kept you out of my mind, you were still there. It was annoying. Then in rehab I thought of you constantly,” Sherlock said. Suddenly John surged forward and kissed him.  
  
“You do know I’m still bloody angry with you.” He curled his fingers in Sherlock’s shirt. “You know why, right?”  
  
“Yes, but you said you didn’t want to speak to me until I was clean. I have just been declared clean and sober.”  
  
“You’re a magnificent idiot. You were being far too logical.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “I would have liked to hear from you while you were trying to get clean.”  
  
Sherlock rubbed his neck, “I apologise.”  
  
“Three months is a long time, I could have moved on by now.”  
  
“It’s rather obvious that you haven’t.”  
  
John stepped away and Sherlock felt himself frown at the loss of contact, “I do want to talk more but I should be out there with my friends. Come on, we’ll grab you a chair.” John tugged on Sherlock’s hand.  
  
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to wait?”  
  
“Why? The last time we waited I was only almost killed, then you ran away to rehab for three months,” John laughed. It was nice to hear his laugh. “As long as you’re not going anywhere it can wait an hour or two.”

* * *

When John received the text from Sherlock saying that he was home he was so angry he didn’t want to deal with it. He also had piles of things to get done before the term came to an end. It was too much, so he waited. Once he got a moment he thought about calling Sherlock but he wasn’t sure if he should have yelled at him or told him he loved him, so he told himself he would give it until after his party to deal with it. He was happy to not have to wait that long.  
  
For three months he felt like he had been walking around with this big hole in his life and then Sherlock was standing there in his garden and he felt whole again.  
  
“Harry’s very angry with you, just so you know.” He was but he couldn’t help but feel completely comfortable with the man as if they didn’t miss those three months.  
  
“Already knew that.” Sherlock was carrying one of the chairs from the kitchen. John was happy to see how healthy the man looked. He was still skinny as a string bean but at least he didn’t look like the dead warmed up a bit like the last time he saw him.  
  
“Of course, you did.” John took a deep breath before rejoining his friends and family outside. For the last few months their feelings had been mixed on Sherlock. Molly, Greg, Henrique, and Clara all had hopes the man was going to come back to John clean and sober, ready for a relationship. Mike, Anna, Harry, and Sarah all thought he was an arsehole and should have stuck around until John woke up.  
  
“So, he’s joining us?” Mike questioned.  
  
“Yes, it’s my birthday.” John pushed a plate of food in front of Sherlock, who was now sitting beside him at the head of the table.  
  
Surprisingly, Sherlock stayed quiet while eating. Everyone else laughed and talked about random stories of John’s life. It wasn’t lost on him that everyone was happier than normal to celebrate his birthday.  
  
“Are there not gifts? Isn’t that what people do at birthdays?” Sherlock questioned after the cake was brought out.  
  
“John didn’t want a thing,” Henrique explained. “He said that he mostly had everything he wanted but I would say now he has it all, no?” he said wisely before taking a bite of his cake.

Sherlock squirmed a bit.  
  
“Did you get me a gift?” John asked curiously because what the hell could Sherlock get him?  
  
“Well, that is what ones partner does, isn’t?” Sherlock pulled a box from his pocket and tossed it over.  
  
John stared at the plain white, unwrapped box for a moment. He was sure he had never thought of Sherlock being a sentimental, gift-giving person. He doubted the man had ever bought a gift in his life before. That was why when he bought that forensics book for him in Paris John just left it on the bedside table for Sherlock to find. “You didn’t need to.”  
  
Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes.  
  
“Open it,” Molly urged with a few claps.  
  
John opened the top and looked in to find a vintage pocket watch, one he hadn’t seen in ages. It was Uncle Hamish’s. It was the only thing that Hamish had left to his brother, John’s dad. Originally the watch belonged to their father, John’s grandfather. The arse turned around and sold it the minute he got his fingers on it.  
  
“How did you find this? How did you even – Harry, it’s Granddad’s watch – Uncle Hamish’s watch.” The front looked something like gold lace and on the back was engraved, ‘be home by 5’. It had been a gift from his grandmum before he had left to fight in the war.

“Mon dieu.” Henrique looked at the watch with wide eyes. “I thought it was gone forever.”  
  
“I didn’t even think you were listening when I was telling you about this. We were on a stake out in that greenhouse, the one with the prized roses. You were complaining about people holding sentimental value to objects and I got angry with you and told you about the watch. You never even saw it.”  
  
“Sure I have. In Henrique’s apartment in Paris there’s a photo of him, Hamish, you, and Harriet hanging in the entryway. It’s a candid and Hamish is looking at the watch. Then, in a photo you have of your grandfather, he has it proudly displayed. You also gave a decent description of it that night. And, of course, I was listening. I always listen. I just delete certain things after.”  
  
“But I don’t understand how you tracked it down. You’ve been in rehab for three months.”  
  
“Yes, I was able to convince them to use the computer in the staff room, under supervision, because I told them it was vital. Then when I found it I asked my brother for a favour.”  
  
John couldn’t do anything but laugh and try not to cry as he looked at the watch. It was the reason John had been thrown down the stairs during an argument with his father. He had gone home to visit his mum and asked if he could see the watch because he was always fond of it. But he found out that it was sold. They got into a big row over it and John’s father called him ungrateful and posh and selfish. John called him an abusive drunk. Then, well his proved it.  
  
Sherlock, it seemed, wanted to prove how he was the complete opposite of what John had feared about getting into a relationship with someone with addiction problems. He had gone out and found the thing his drunken father sold. He had gone to rehab for three months.  
  
“Amazing, you’re amazing.” John couldn’t help himself when he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. As a general rule he hated PDA but it felt necessary at that moment. “Fucking amazing,” he said against his lips.  
  
“Should we all leave you to it or…” Greg kicked John’s shin under the table.  
  
“Ow, bugger off. I’m happy. I could be dead right now.” John sat back in his seat.  
  
“Are you honestly using that?” Sherlock’s hand landed on John’s thigh.  
  
“Do not for a minute think I’ll not use it against you,” John threatened, mostly joking.  
  
Sherlock looked unsure of what to say.  
  
“But it’s going to be hard since you tracked this down.” He shook his head, still not believing that Sherlock had found the pocket watch.

***

Later Harry and Clara had left while Mike, Anna, Molly, and Jamie went out to some free concert. Orginally, John had wanted to go with them but since Sherlock was there he decided to stay home.  
  
Sarah and Greg were helping Henrique to clean in the back and the kitchen. John brought Sherlock in to talk but the next thing he knew they were making out on the settee. “We should stop.” John sucked in a breath as Sherlock’s hand tickled up his side. “My uncle and flatmates are right out there. Plus we need to talk.”  
  
“Minute.” Sherlock’s lips trailed over his jaw. “I missed the way you smell and taste.”  
  
“I’m serious.” John detached himself and moved as far away as he possibly could. “I was so angry the day I came to see you and you kicked me out –“  
  
“I don’t know why we have to talk about these things. I know that you want to be with me and I, you. You only wanted to talk because you were unsure of what our relationship should be and you also are still angry with me but we’ll work through that bit, I’m sure. I would like our relationship to be as it was. It was fine with just existing together and not going out of our way to do romantic things.”  
  
“Aside from you disappearing because you were doing cocaine and heroin and us denying that we’re actually together?”  
  
“As well as you not dating terribly boring women.”  
  
“Okay, I can do that.” John chuckled.  
  
“Everything else that you think we’ve missed, we can get to later. Take me to bed.”  
  
John was going to tell him no because Henrique was going to want to do something when he was done with the cleaning up but didn’t need to because the doorbell rang, “Your mum’s here and you’re going home.”  
  
“I am not going home. I am not a child.” Sherlock stuck out his bottom lip as John went to answer the door. “Tell her that and make her leave!” Sherlock yelled as John opened the door.  
  
“Hello, Mrs Holmes.” John greeted her with a smile. “Please come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”  
  
“You can call me Violet, dear. Yes, I would love some tea.” Mrs Holmes took her coat off and handed it to John who hung it on the rack before showing her to the kitchen, through the living room where Sherlock was sitting and having a strop.  
  
“Sherlock, come join us,” she called as they passed.  
  
He stood up with an annoyed sound and followed.  
  
Henrique, Sarah, and Greg were just finishing up as John put the kettle on. “We’ll get out of your way,” Sarah said as she left with Greg behind her.  
  
“We’ll do dinner, yes? Sherlock, Mrs Holmes, you are very welcomed to join.”  
  
Mrs Holmes answered in French and it sounded something like “no, but thank you anyway” along with something else.  
  
“I’m going for a nice walk, John.” Henrique gave a small wave before leaving John with Sherlock and his mum.  
  
“He’s very nice. How are you related?”  
  
“My late uncle’s partner.” John said, fingering the watch in his pocket.  
  
“I see.” She nodded. “So, you’re studying to be a doctor?”  
  
“Yes.” He collected three tea cups.  
  
“That’s what every mother wants, isn’t it? A handsome doctor for her child?” She smiled. It was some smile that Sherlock had obviously inherited along with her hair and cheekbones.  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
“Do you plan on visiting London soon?” she asked.  
  
“Probably, not much on here when everyone goes home for breaks.” John shrugged.  
  
“When you do we’ll plan a dinner so you can meet Mycroft and Siger.”  
  
“Oh, ah, okay.” John felt nervous meeting the father and big brother of Sherlock. He was sure they were intimidating.  
  
“So, Sherlock is going to be staying in London with us, I’m unsure if he’s told you this.”  
  
“Honestly, Mother?”  
  
“I just wanted to let him know what the terms of you receiving any part of your trust fund are. I’m sure he cares about your future.”  
  
“I should know, Sherlock.”  
  
“He has a curfew of eight p.m. and he will be receiving random drug tests.”  
  
“Okay, is he able to visit me or can I come see him?”  
  
“He can see you but only for a few days at a time. I wasn’t going to let him but I don’t believe that he’ll be able to get up to much trouble with you around,” she explained. “It may sound like a lot but –“  
  
“They think this is something that I need because they were not strict enough with me in my teen years,” Sherlock gritted out.  
  
“You have to gain their trust back,” John said as the kettle whistled.  
  
“Your trust back as well?” Sherlock questioned.  
  
“Everyone’s,” his mother said. “Now that it’s out of the way, where do you intend on doing your clinical?”

***

They were finally alone in John’s room after Violet left and Henrique went back to his hotel after dinner.  
  
“What were you and Henrique talking about?” John asked, finally cleaning them both up.  
  
“Really, John, you really should learn French.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, whatever.”  
  
“We’ve had a conversation before, in Paris, about how I was not to hurt you. He wanted to reiterate. He also wanted to tell me not to blame myself for what happened with Victor.”  
  
John rested his head on Sherlock’s chest, “Do you?”  
  
He felt Sherlock shrug, “I should have been able to see it.”  
  
“He was smart.”  
  
“The last one, Irene, I should have put it together when I got the news but I wasn’t thinking clearly.”  
  
“Because you were high?”  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
“I had a rather hard time forgetting that day…” Sherlock admitted softly, it almost broke John’s heart for him to sound so vulnerable. “I was sure that he had killed you and it was because he couldn’t have me. What a ridiculous thing. No matter how I feel for you I will never understand that.”  
  
“Good because then you’d be as crazy as your ex.” John laughed, attempting to make the conversation lighter. “But honestly, don’t blame yourself. I don’t.”  
  
“Well, you’re an idiot.”  
  
“So are you.” John moved up to kiss him. “But I like you anyway.”  
  
“Obviously.” Sherlock held him tight. “Not obviously I’m an idiot but that you like me in spite of what you seem to believe.”  
  
“I understand.” John nuzzled his neck. “But you are an idiot,” he said affectionately before yawning.   
  
John fell asleep with Sherlock stroking his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! For now at least. I'm going to do more with this timeline because it's obviously not the end to the story so stay tuned. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also shout out to [Iriya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iriya/pseuds/Iriya) again for catching my stupid mistakes.


End file.
